Cinderella Duels
by Yanx's Pen
Summary: Typical Cinderella story, but this time:wizard style.The Masqueraded Duel is an annual event in which Hermione takes part, hoping to win money, be free from her step-family's evil clutches, and also to meet the mysterious dueller behind the mask..
1. The Grangers

-THE GRANGERS-

_Two years after the war..._

Hermione forced herself to smile. 'That's _great, _Dad,' she said, trying to look sincere.

The corners of her father's lips lifted up into a sad smile as he could see right through her false tone. He placed a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder – or what she thought was supposed to be reassuring. 'I'm lonely now, Hermione.'

'But you have me,' she said quickly, hoping against all hope that that would change his mind. She started ticking things off her fingers. 'I can cook, Dad. I can bring home money...' she trailed off, frowning. 'Um, it would be in galleons, _but _I can easily convert it into pounds! I can do all the housework for you. We can play Monopoly all the time just like how we used to. We can –'

'But soon you're going to move away,' he began, 'and –'

He was cut off by Hermione's interjection, 'I won't move then!' she cried almost hysterically, grasping at loose straws.

He sighed, pulling her close to him. 'I need a wife, sweetheart. I'm lonely,' he repeated.

'Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to latch onto the first thing wearing a skirt and red lipstick,' she snapped, not being able to stop herself. She immediately felt horrible when she felt him stiffen. She held him tighter. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her head tucked into the crook in his neck. 'I shouldn't have said that.'

'Perhaps not,' came his soft reply.

She pushed away from him. 'But, Dad, this is...this is...' she waved her hands in the air above them, not being able to articulate her thoughts.

'Hermione,' her father said, 'I still miss her. I still love her.' His voice sounded hollow.

Hermione looked up at him silently, not trusting herself to speak.

'Ever since...' he trailed off, swallowing. 'Every single day I think about her. I haven't stopped.'

_Breathe in_, Hermione, she ordered herself. _Breathe out._

'But it's been two years, Hermione. Two years. We need to move on.'

Hermione couldn't hold back a glare. 'Are you saying we need to move on from Mum's _death_?'

He winced. 'No. No, that's not what I meant.'

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. 'She died a very tragic death, Dad. She was killed by _Death Eaters, _Dad! In Australia!'

Her father buried his head in his heads. 'I know,' he whispered, his voice muffled.

'Then why are you saying we should move on!' she exclaimed.

Her father didn't reply.

Hermione sat down in her chair. She couldn't even cry anymore. It had taken her years until the crying had stopped. Now, whenever she thought of her mother, all she felt was pain.

'I should've known,' Hermione said, now sounding defeated. She briefly forgot about her fight with her father, now walking down another terrible path in her memory. 'I should've realised that there would be pictures of our family in the Muggle word, too. I should've realised that Voldemort would have had his army looking through those pictures, too.' She looked up at her father, only to see him staring unblinkingly at the carpet.

'I would have rather been the one cooking in the kitchen, than be the one who was shopping for stupid car parts that we really didn't need,' he said in a dejected tone, shaking his head. Hermione felt her heart clench at the pain that was written across her father's face. 'It was my entire fault. I should have been –'

'What? No, Dad!' Hermione exclaimed, attempting to bring her father's train of thought to a standstill. 'Don't even _think_ that! If it was anybody's fault, blame it on me, okay? Or Voldemort, or the Death Eaters, or...anyone else, really.' She got up, and crouched next to her father. 'It was _not your fault_,' she stressed, trying to look into his eyes but he refused to meet her gaze.

He nodded, but she knew that he would still take the blame for his wife's death.

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her wild curls. 'Maybe you're right, Dad,' Hermione said, sighing. 'Maybe we should move on.'

He looked up, a brief glimmer of hope swimming in his pain-filled eyes.

'But so soon?' Hermione asked in a gentle tone. Her father didn't deserve to be harshly shouted at.

'Then when, Hermione? When?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say, so she closed it.

'Exactly,' he said softly.

She rested her head on his knee.

'We'll get through this, sweetheart. We'll get through this,' he said, stroking her hair.

-X-

_6 months later..._

'A _witch_, Dad?' Hermione yelled. 'A _witch?_'

Mr Granger looked up, mildly amused at his daughter's reaction. He folded the newspaper, tossing it to the table. 'Darling, you know what it does to my heart when you Apparate into this house like that,' he said, smiling.

She stalked over to him. He looked over her clothes, and shook his head. _Why did she choose to become an Auror of all things?_ he thought as he saw her slashed clothes, the bruises on her arm, and the healing cut on her neck.

'Don't you _darling_ me, Father!'

'Lord help us, she's calling me 'Father',' he sighed, looking up at the heavens.

She narrowed her eyes. 'Oh, quit the dramatics,' she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Of course...as soon as you stop yours,' he said, reaching forward to take a sip of his coffee.

Her eyes were still narrowed. She waved her wand, and he was just in time to duck, narrowly avoiding an attack by the newspaper she charmed to land in front of him.

'Show-off,' he muttered, briefly wishing magic existed within him, too.

'That wasn't a show of my abilities,' she snapped.

'Oh?' he asked, deliberately reaching around the newspaper for his coffee. He knew what was in that newspaper of hers. He knew because he was there when the picture was taken.

'Read it!'

'Hermione, dear, I know what's in it,' he said, regarding her calmly. _She has her mother's temper, she does_, he thought fondly.

He waited while she fought the anger off. He watched the big clock mounted on the wall behind her. One, two, three, four...

...eleven, twelve, thir—

'Well,' she said in an eerily calm voice. He returned his gaze to her. 'Would you like to explain the meaning of this?'

'I'm sorry,' her father said in mock politeness, 'I wasn't under the impression that you were my mother.'

She jerked her head. '_Someone_ has to be the responsible one around here.' Her eyes narrowed again. 'Stop looking so amused, Dad! This isn't funny!'

He sighed. 'Isabelle Carmell and I met for lunch at Diagon Alley. Someone took a picture,' he finally said.

'She's a witch, Dad,' Hermione repeated.

'Now now, there's no need to go around calling her names,' he chastised her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his immature joke.

'Yes, she's a witch, Hermione. And I'm fine with that.'

'Dad, do you even know what she's famous for?'

'She's a very powerful dueller, Hermione, I know. But that doesn't mean she's dangerous.'

Hermione stared at him incredulously. 'Are you even listening to yourself? She's won countless of duels, Dad! There is not a duel she has fought that she hasn't won! What does that tell you?'

'She can be loving and caring, too,' her father said, shrugging.

Hermione took a deep breath. They were going nowhere fast. 'Dad, she is a powerful witch; she fights, she wins. She's dangerous.'

His lips twitched. 'So just because she's a powerful witch who wins her fights, she could be dangerous?'

'It's a possibility,' Hermione said, feeling relieved that he understood.

'Uh huh,' he said, pretending to ponder. 'I had no idea that you were dangerous. Should I call security before you kill me?'

And just like that, her relief disappeared with a _poof_. 'That is not what I mean, Dad,' she snapped.

'Come on, honey. You helped win the war! _You're_ powerful, _you_ win fights...and at the same time, you're the best daughter a father could ever ask for,' he said, smiling sincerely.

Hermione tilted her head. 'Dad.'

'Yes?'

'I'm your _only_ daughter.'

'Doesn't mean you can't be the best daughter,' he said, grinning.

Hermione shook her head, not being able to stop the smile that lifted up her lips. She walked over, and sat on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder.

'Honey, I'm taking things slow. And I thought you said you don't mind me dating?'

'I don't, Dad. But you need to be careful – especially of witches with wands.'

'Your old man can take care of himself,' he said, winking at her.

Hermione looked at the carefree look on his face. She half-smiled. He looked so...happy. He smiled more freely, laughed more easily, and his eyes were devoid of that pain that made her feel sore just looking at. It had been a while since she had last seen him this relaxed. She took a deep breath.

'Fine.'

'Fine?'

She nodded. 'Fine.'

'Good,' he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

'But be careful,' she warned.

He saluted her. 'But of course,' he said, grinning.

Hermione shook her head, still smiling. She got up from his lap. 'I need to go now, Dad. Harry has some documents that I need to fill out for Azkaban.'

'Thanks for stopping by, sweetheart.'

'Just don't get too serious, or move too fast,' she warned.

He rolled his eyes. 'I'm a dentist, Hermione. We don't know the meaning of serious or fast.'

-X-

_4 months later..._

'We don't like you,' came the snooty voice of one Sabine Carmell-Granger.

Hermione didn't even bat an eye. She glanced at the tall, beautiful girl. 'Oh, you break my heart,' she muttered sarcastically.

'Really?' asked Astina Carmell-Granger in a hopeful voice, her bright blue eyes looking even brighter with newfound hope, oblivious to the definition of sarcasm.

Hermione snorted. 'Into a thousand pieces.'

Astina beamed, satisfied. 'And you know what we're going to do to those pieces?'

Hermione glanced at her watch, and then at all the people in the house. Thirty more minutes. 'Pray tell,' she said, walking around the kitchen, finding plates to put snacks on.

'We're going to smash them.'

Hermione looked at her. Then she looked at Sabine. Then she looked back at Astina. 'Uh huh,' she said slowly. 'Well, I hope you know that I'm deathly afraid of both of you right now,' she said in a cheerful voice, bending down to find another plate.

'Good,' came Sabine's irritating voice. 'Because once we smash them, we're going to –'

'-feed them to hippogriffs!' interrupted Astina ecstatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes, still looking inside the cupboard.

She jumped a little, bumping her head, when she heard a slap behind her. 'Ow,' she muttered, rubbing the spot on her head that had connected with the cupboard frame. She turned around.

'What did you do _that_ for?' cried Astina, holding a hand to her face, glaring at her sister.

'You just ruined a perfectly good threat, you bint!' yelled Sabine.

Hermione rolled her eyes again, edging out of their way unnoticed.

'Oh really? Like you could have done any better?'

'As a matter of fact, I _could_ have!' Sabine yelled.

Hermione quickly piled biscuits and cupcakes onto the plates, eager to get out of the suddenly cramped kitchen.

'Well, I find that hard to believe!'

'Excuse me? _You're _the stupid one!' Sabine exclaimed incredulously.

Hermione bit her lip, knowing that they had long forgotten about her.

Astina gasped. 'How _dare_ you say that!' Hermione had just left the kitchen, when she heard Astina continue, 'We're _both_ stupid!'

Which was shortly followed by another slap.

Hermione quickly placed the plates on the table in the dining room, before muttering a few pleasantries to the guests before racing up to her room.

She looked around it, sighing. 'Ron, Harry, where are you?' she whispered, sitting on the bed.

'Right behind you, of course,' came Harry's voice.

Hermione quickly turned around, a huge smile on her face. 'Harry! Ron!' she exclaimed, hugging them both. She let go of them. 'I didn't even see you there!'

'Pathetic Auror skills, if you ask me,' Ron said, a teasing smile on his face.

Hermione slapped his arm. 'Shut up,' she laughed.

'So how is the gruesome twosome?' Harry asked, plopping himself on her bed.

Hermione scrunched up her face. 'Ugh.'

'That bad, huh?' Ron asked, sitting next to Harry.

'Like you can't imagine,' Hermione said, shaking her head. She sat between them.

'No, what I can't imagine is that they're your sisters now,' Harry said.

'_Step_-sisters,' Hermione corrected with a grimace.

'Well, Hermione,' Ron said, 'look on the bright side.'

Harry and Hermione both turned to look at him, waiting for Ron to continue.

Ron looked back at them. 'Hang on, let me think.'

Harry held up a hand. 'What did we say about doing that?'

Hermione cracked a small smile.

Ron, on the other hand, frowned. 'Hey, I sometimes come up with good ideas!'

Harry smiled. 'Of course you do.'

'Ron, you were saying about there being a bright side...' Hermione prompted.

'Ah!' Ron said.

'Well, are you going to tell me?'

Ron kept quiet for a full minute, looking as if he was in deep thought. He clicked his fingers. 'Yeah, there's no bright side.'

'I appreciate the effort, Ron,' Hermione said glumly.

'They can't be that bad, right?' Harry asked, trying to be positive.

Hermione merely looked at him. 'They're the spawn of the devil herself, Harry.'

'She can't be that bad, right?' Ron asked, echoing Harry's hopeful tone.

'She's too...' Hermione trailed off, searching for the right word. 'Fake.'

'But your dad loves her, Hermione,' Harry said gently.

'I miss him,' she sighed, ignoring what Harry said about love.

'Well, good thing he's on his way from his honeymoon!' Ron said, trying to bring some cheer into his voice.

Hermione made a face. 'Honeymoon,' she repeated, sounding disgusted, images of her father and ..._that woman_ coming to mind. She shook her head, feeling even more disgusted.

'Hmm,' Harry said.

Hermione looked at him. 'Hmm?' she echoed.

'On the bright side...'

'Oh, not you too,' Hermione said, groaning.

'No, no really! Seeing that she's also a witch, you don't have to hide your magic from her.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'That's not a bright side, Harry. That's fact.'

Harry shrugged. 'I tried.'

The three of them sat in comfortable silence, before her door was thrown open.

'HARRY!' screamed Sabine, rushing into the room. Harry couldn't even escape before Sabine had thrown herself onto him.

'Oof!' Harry gasped, feeling all the breath leave him. A second later, he was being straddled by the beautiful girl. Next to him sat an amused and slightly sickened Hermione, and a laughing Ron. Harry glared at them.

'Oh, Harry, you handsome man,' gushed Sabine, trailing a finger down his cheek.

Harry shook his head, attempting to shake her finger off his face. 'Sabine,' he bit out.

Sabine was either ignorant of his cold tone or was deliberately ignoring it. 'My, my!' she squealed, squeezing his arms. 'Your muscles are...mmm!'

'Sweet Merlin,' Harry muttered, trying to throw her off him. 'Sabine, could you please get off?'

Sabina let out a tinkling laugh. She smacked his chest playfully. 'Now where would the fun in that be, silly?'

'SABINE!' came a strangled cry from Hermione's doorway. All four looked up.

Sabine rolled her eyes. 'Control yourself, Astina. I told you that he's mine.'

Astina stomped her way over to her sister who was still straddling Harry. Of course, neither sister could see that Harry was mouthing SOS messages to Hermione and Ron who refused to do anything.

'How could you, Sab?' Astina cried. 'I even showed you his and my wedding album!'

Harry's eyes bulged. 'Our wedding what?' he gulped.

Sabine turned her eyes on him, batting them flirtatiously. She traced Harry's lips with her finger. Harry silently fought the urge to bite her finger off. He held his breath, counting to ten. 'She made an album of what your wedding would look like. Not to worry though,' she said in a low (and what she thought was sexy) voice, smiling wickedly. 'I burned it.' She adjusted herself on Harry's lap, causing Harry to groan. It was a _really_ good thing he wasn't attracted to her.

A strangled sound came from Astina, and before anybody could do anything, an invisible force threw Sabine off Harry, making her land on the floor far away from the bed. Harry got up, seeing that Astina was the one who cast the spell on her sister. 'Thanks,' he muttered gratefully.

A dreamlike expression graced Astina's features. 'Anytime,' she murmured. Harry smiled uncomfortably.

'God, Tina, could you be any more pathetic?' Sabine asked scathingly.

The dreamlike expression disappeared, only to be replaced by one of anger. 'You _burnt_ my _wedding album?_' she screeched.

'Oh, God,' Hermione muttered, massaging her temples. 'here we go again.'

-X-

_One year later..._

On either side of her sat her two best friends, holding her quivering hands. It felt as if she was in a vacuum...she couldn't hear, she couldn't feel. But she could see.

She saw the coffin being lowered into the ground. She saw the dark earth being piled into the grave. She saw the marble headstone that gleamed in the sunlight. She saw the tears on her family's faces. She saw the tears on her friends' faces.

But she couldn't feel the tears on hers.

She bowed her head as soon as the ceremony was over, unwilling to participate in whatever happened next. It felt too familiar. Harry and Ron stayed with her, clutching her hands even tighter when they heard the whispers:

'_...sudden heart attack...'_

'_An orphan at nineteen years of age...'_

'_I suppose she'll live with the Carmell-Grangers...'_

She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes tightly, wishing that she could shut out the noise.

They were still sitting there two hours later. It was just the three of them left in the cemetery, and yet still no words had been spoken.

Harry glanced up at the sky. It was getting dark.

'Hermione...' he said softly.

'Why do I feel so empty, Harry?' she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. Ron frowned at her pain, drawing soothing circles on her back. 'Why do I...?'

Harry knew it was a rhetorical question. But he couldn't just not say anything. 'Nothing I say will make the pain go away, Hermione,' he murmured, smoothing her hair.

'But having friends around can,' Ron said.

Hermione said nothing as the tears kept falling.

-X-

_One week later..._

'You've all been called here as the final will of Mr George Granger is being read,' a woman in a smart suit announced. There were many people crammed into the small office: Hermione and her step-family, her aunts and uncles, even a few of their cousins.

Hermione wasn't paying attention though. She didn't care what her father had given her. She didn't care what family heirlooms were now hers to keep. She didn't care if she now had money to move to another country and set up house there. She just didn't care. She would give anything, _anything_, to have him back.

But even in the wizarding world, the events of the past couldn't be rewritten.

She sat there, glaring at her step-sisters who couldn't contain their squeals of delight when it was mentioned that they had been left money. Her step-mother had more class, of course, by containing her glee. No one noticed, but upon closer inspection, Hermione saw the satisfaction in her step-mother's eyes.

Hermione's nostrils flared. How could this woman _possibly_ have been in love with her father? How?

' "And to my darling daughter, Hermione,"' the woman was saying, ' "to whom I leave a third of my assets, namely..."' The list went on and on. When she thought that it had come to a stop, she looked up and nodded, thinking that that was the appropriate thing to do. But the woman continued, ' "All of these assets will be placed under Darleen Carmell-Granger's control and it is my wish that Hermione remains at home with my wife until Hermione chooses to get married –"'

For the first time in over a week, Hermione found her voice. '_What?'_ she asked in a very low voice, getting up slowly from her seat.

The woman looked up from the paper, not pleased with the interruption. 'I'm sorry, but is there a problem?'

'Could you please repeat what you said?' Hermione asked, not sure if she heard right.

The woman pursed her lips. ' "It is my wish that she remain at home with my wife until she chooses to get married –' Hermione sat down slowly in her seat, disbelief racing through her system. ' "—It is also my wish that she dedicates her time and effort to the maintenance of the house, and helping my wife out in whatever way possible –" ' Hermione's eyes bulged. _What in the bloody name of – ' "-_This would mean that she would have to resign from her job until she chooses to marry—" '

This was unbelievable.

George Granger would _never_ have done this. Hermione looked up to meet the eyes of her step-mother. Isabelle Carmell-Granger smiled – and her smile seemed to be a bit too smug. Hermione frowned.

Why did it feel as if she was being cheated? Why did it feel as if those weren't her father's words at all?

Why did it feel as if she was being sentenced?

_**A/**_**N: Right, so basically all my other fanfics are on hiatus. I'm focusing all my energy on this baby right here. So, it's not as dark as it seems to be. Trust me, you'll find the usual clichéd Cinderella goodies coming through soon enough. It'll be fun..Promise : )**


	2. Decisions

-DECISIONS-

Hermione stared at her copy of her father's will.

Actually speaking, it wasn't her copy.

Technically, the copy was at the lawyer's office.

But the lawyer didn't know that.

Hermione bit her lip. She knew what she had done was wrong, but she really had no other choice. For a brief moment, the knowledge of being arrested for using magic in the presence of Muggles had evaded her – all she wanted was to look at her father's will. A simple Duplicating Spell (when no one had been looking) had seen to that.

She just could not believe the terms of the will. Her father would never put her up to this kind of torture.

Of course, he had no idea she considered living with the Carmells torture, because she had never voiced her dislike of her step-family to him, because he had just seemed so happy. Hermione shook her head. Either way, it didn't make sense! Her father would _never_ tie her to a marriage! He would _never_ ask her to give up her career!

He believed too much in independence, passion for work, and liberty. Why would he make her do this?

The will must have been tampered with.

Hermione held the tip of her wand over the crisp paper. '_Specialis revelio,'_ she whispered, flicking her wand. Was it her imagination, or did her father's signature just glimmer? Hermione blinked. Her lethargy completely forgotten, she sat up straighter. Determined, she pointed her wand at the paper, narrowing her eyes. '_Specialis revelio,_' she repeated.

His signature glimmered once again.

Hermione read over the will once again, looking for any other clues. So the signature was a bit suspicious – anything else?

The only other problem she could find was that the paper looked too new. She held it up in the light. She frowned. It wasn't even frayed at the edges! It wasn't getting yellow, it wasn't getting too flimsy, and the writing wasn't starting to fade. To her knowledge, the last time her father had edited his will was in 1993.

Her eyes roamed over the sheet, coming to rest on the witnesses' signatures. The one was definitely Isabelle's. No other idiot managed to put hearts into every vowel of their signature. Hermione followed the dotted line to...

'March 10 1999?' she murmured, her eyebrows pulling together. Which meant that this will was drawn up only six months ago...

So engrossed was she in the will, that she didn't hear the footsteps coming down the passage. She was about to cast another spell on the will, when to her unfortunate surprise, the paper zoomed out of her hands so quickly it left behind a paper cut.

The pain completely forgotten, she looked up, her heart sinking when she saw who was at her door.

'Thought you'd be smart, didn't you?' Isabelle said, smirking. She held the will up in her hand, leaning against Hermione's doorframe.

Hermione pushed her self-anger deep down – she'd deal with herself later. 'It's my right,' she said, sticking her chin out. She waved her wand, mutely casting a Summoning Spell, but was stopped by Isabelle's counter-spell.

Isabelle offered a fake smile. 'You forget that I'm a professional dueller, Hermione,' she said softly, now focusing on the will in her hand. Using her wand, she began to cast numerous spells on it, now doubt putting up Anti-Hermione wards. Her smile tightened. 'Stop trying to take it, Hermione,' she said thinly, feeling the pull on the paper. Hermione glared, refusing to give up. She gripped her wand tighter, trying again.

Isabelle sighed, looking mildly annoyed. With a slight flick of her own wand, she muttered, '_Expelliarmus_.' Hermione's wand soared out of her hand, much to Hermione's fury.

'Give it back!' Hermione yelled, stalking towards Isabelle angrily.

Isabelle smiled again, looking down at her. 'I'm afraid –' she said, flicking her wand again so that Hermione's wand and the will disappeared with a _pop_. Hermione gasped. '-that I don't know where it is,' Isabelle finished, shrugging.

'You—!' Hermione stopped, not finding the right words to best describe her step-mother. She clenched her fists, knowing that the hatred she felt for this woman was rolling off her in waves. It was a wonder Isabelle was still standing.

'I have a right to my own wand, Isabelle!' she shouted, not trying to stay calm.

Isabelle pretended to think. 'I don't think so,' she said after a while, a huge smile plastered onto her face, crossing her arms.

Hermione felt her nostrils flare and her ears go red. 'I have people in high places, Isabelle,' she warned, dropping her tone. 'I _work_ for the Ministry. Stealing wands is illegal.'

'Hmm,' Isabelle said, stroking her imaginary beard in mocking thought, 'and there I was thinking that stealing wills is also illegal.' She levelled a stern gaze at Hermione whose eyebrows had shot up. 'The Ministry wouldn't care for that, don't you think?' Isabelle asked, faking ignorance.

As horror gripped her, Hermione felt as if a rock had just been dropped into her stomach.

'Now, are you still going to tell them about your wand, Hermione?' Isabelle asked, fingering her own wand.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'You're blackmailing me,' she stated, clenching her jaw.

Isabelle leaned towards her, so close that they were just a few millimetres apart. Hermione inwardly flinched at this close proximity, but refused to back down. She jutted her chin out, meeting her step-mother's stare. 'Don't test me, Hermione,' she whispered.

'Don't test _me_, Isabelle,' Hermione whispered menacingly.

At this, Isabelle withdrew, throwing her head back and laughing. She pointed at Hermione. '_You?_ I should be afraid of _you?_' she asked, cackling again.

Hermione merely crossed her arms wordlessly, thinking that the answer was obvious.

Isabelle reached out to stroke Hermione's cheek. Hermione jerked her head, glaring, as she shook her finger off her face. Isabelle ignored this. 'My sweet angel, I'm the best dueller _in the world_. Have you seen my trophy room?' she asked, smirking.

Hermione regarded her coolly. Given any day, she could beat this woman hands down. She was sure of it.

'The room that your lovely father,' Isabelle continued, pausing for effect, relishing in the pain that crossed her step-daughter's face, 'put up for me?'

Hermione continued to glare at the woman. She was bloody incensed that her wand had been taken away _and _the will had been discovered. One day...

'I could beat you any day, given the chance,' Hermione said confidently.

Isabelle smirked. 'Is that so,' she murmured, amusement dancing in her depthless eyes.

Hermione pursed her lips. 'Of course.'

Isabelle straightened against the doorframe. 'Well, you'll never know, will you?'

'Why don't you give me my wand back,' Hermione said, 'and I'll _show_ you.'

Isabelle hesitated, her lips twitching. Hermione was quick enough to identify the emption that briefly flashed in her eyes, before dissolving back into coldness. _She's scared of me_, Hermione thought in wonder, her lips parting.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. 'Your wand will only be given to you when I choose to give it to you,' she said, not acknowledging Hermione's challenge.

'What!' Hermione exclaimed, her voice shaking in outrage. 'That is—' Isabelle waved her wand, silencing Hermione.

Hermione stared daggers at her. If looks could kill...

Isabelle saw this, and as an afterthought, flicked her wand again. Hermione felt her body freeze.

Oh how she hated this woman.

'I fired Beatrice, our domestic worker,' Isabelle said, examining her fingernails. 'I don't really want an elf...and according to dear George's will—' Hermione flinched internally, '—you're supposed to help me around the house.'

_Oh no_, Hermione thought, knowing where this was going.

'No magic, Hermione,' Isabelle said, now looking up. 'I'll have a list ready for you every morning. Make sure it's done, or else...' she trailed off softly.

If Hermione hadn't seen this coming, she would have been a lot angrier.

That didn't mean she wasn't angry now.

_When she releases you from the spells,_ Hermione silently spoke to herself, _do _not_ kill her. The last thing you need right now is a murder on your hands._

Isabelle looked around her room. 'And pack your things,' she ordered, walking out and down the passage. She waved her wand over her shoulder, releasing Hermione from both spells.

Hermione ran after her. 'Pack what?' she snapped, snidely wondering if the three of them were going on a lovely little family vacation.

Isabelle carried on walking, making her way down the stairs. Hermione stayed on her landing. 'You're moving into the outhouse,' she said airily.

Hermione froze. 'You can't force me to do that,' she said, swallowing.

'I'm your guardian, Hermione,' Isabelle said. Hermione could no longer see her, but her voice carried from the lounge. 'I can make you do whatever I want. And don't worry, dear! I've done up the room very nicely for you. There's pink _everywhere_.'

Hermione closed her eyes. What mess had she landed in? She slowly made her way to her room, plans moving at an opposite pace in her head.

She dug out boxes from under her bed and from her closets, shoving all her belongings into them. She couldn't go to the Ministry because Isabelle had a stolen will against her. She couldn't find solace in her work, because ... well, hello! She wasn't allowed to work. Hermione paused. But she was allowed to keep her friends!

Hermione bit her lip. Why couldn't she have gotten an owl like Harry and Ron? She paced her room, wondering how on earth she could contact them without Isabelle finding out. She needed her wand to Apparate, and Isabelle probably had put up wards around the house to prevent Hermione from leaving. Wanting to test it anyway, Hermione took one of her magazines, flinging it out of the window. Theoretically, seeing that the magazine belonged to her, it too shouldn't be able to go beyond the wards – if there were any.

Hermione watched it go, and then watched it ricocheting off an invisible wall. Hermione sighed. It was worth a try.

She would have to wait until Friday then.

She would be turning twenty. Her step-monster should allow her to go out on her birthday. The woman was cruel – but not _that_ cruel.

**-X-**

'No.'

Hermione glared at the newspaper that was preventing her from seeing Isabelle's face. 'It's my birthday, Isabelle,' Hermione said slowly, not allowing her disbelief to come through.

'_Happy_ birthday, then,' giggled Sabine from her tall chair at the head of the long dining table. She had a huge stack of magazines on the table before her, hiding half her body from view. She was currently flipping through one with the face of Harry on the front. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'Well, that's too bad,' Isabelle said, turning a page of _The Prophet_ over.

Hermione counted to five, and breathed in deeply. 'I am an adult, Isabelle. Perhaps you don't realise that.'

Isabelle took a sip of her wine. Hermione glanced at the clock – eight. In the morning.

Isabelle lowered the newspaper. 'And I am your guardian, Hermione. Perhaps you don't realise that.'

'You won't let me write them, you won't let me visit them, you won't even let them come here,' she said, starting to get worked up. 'My birthday only comes once a year.'

'Good thing you're not born on February 29,' Astina sighed, walking into the dining room and seating herself daintily at the table. Hermione choked back a laugh when she saw what Astina was wearing – a ball gown accessorised with long white gloves.

'What the bloody hell are you wearing?' Sabine asked, sounding horrified.

Astina sniffed, waving her wand and conjuring a glass of champagne. She sipped at it, wiping her red lipstick mark off the lip when she was done. 'I've already read that magazine, Sab. And it says that Harry Potter prefers girls with class.'

Hermione didn't want to burst the girl's bubble by saying that Harry really cared for genuine people – whether they had class or not. Something the sisters were not capable of.

'Oh, well, that's a relief,' Sabine said, nodding. 'So you're aiming to chase him away with your evident lack of class so that he comes to me. How very sisterly of you, Tina.'

Hermione winced, even before the screeching came.

'HOW _DARE_ YOU SAY THAT?' Astina lunged across the table, about to tackle her sister to the floor, when Isabelle waved her wand, forcing Astina back into her chair. Astina struggled, but stopped when she knew that she couldn't do anything whilst under her mother's wand. She crossed her arms angrily, shooting daggers at Sabine who still sat calmly flipping through her _Potty Over Potter_ magazine.

Belatedly, Hermione turned her attention back towards Isabelle, who was looking at her daughters thoughtfully, her wand still holding Astina in place.

'Fine,' she said, looking back at Hermione.

Hermione's heart sped up, but she knew not to get too hopeful. She narrowed her eyes, waiting for the _but_ to come.

'I'll let you go—'

'What?' Astine yelled. 'Mother, do you not realise what she _is capable of!_' she continued, her shock making her voice go hoarse. 'She could...she could...go buy a wand, or something! Or ... run away!'

'Quit your dramatics, Tina,' Sabine said in a bored voice. 'Mother would've already seen to that.'

'Exactly, Sabine,' Isabelle said pleasantly.

Hermione expected no less.

Really, she just wanted to see her friends.

'I will let you go..._if_ –' Hermione stole herself, waiting for it, '-if your dear friend takes my girls out.'

Hermione licked her lips. 'Which friend?' she asked hesitantly, just to make sure.

'Why, Harry of course,' Isabelle said, beaming.

'Like on a...date?' Hermione asked, already dreading the answer.

'Of course.'

Two identical squeals erupted from the twins' mouths. 'Mother!' Sabine said, throwing her magazine up into the air, and rushing to give her mother a hug. 'I love you!'

'As do I, Mother! As do I!' Astina exclaimed, giving her mother a hug. The two of them skipped out of the room, in two opposite directions, no doubt to work on their charm and appearances.

Hermione was still recovering from her surprise. She knew Harry would mind.

'Can I borrow your owl so that I can check with him first?' she asked.

Isabelle smiled 'Of course, darling. And while you're at it, please inform all your friends of what a cruel bitch I am, and ask them all to send you any extra wands of theirs, or any potions that you could use to poison my family. Sure,' Isabelle said, still smiling.

Hermione bit her lip. Well, it was worth a try.

'You will decide now, Hermione,' she ordered softly, returning her attention to the newspaper.

'With all due respect, Isabelle,' Hermione began in a tone that blatantly mocked respect, 'how do you know I won't try doing these things tomorrow when I go out with my friends?'

'You underestimate my influence, Hermione,' Isabelle said, closing her newspaper and putting it down. She took another sip at her red wine. 'I will organise spies, Hermione. It could be anyone, really.'

Hermione's escape routes all looked positively implausible now.

'And if they report any sightings of any...illicit dealings of yours – according to my definition, of course – then you shall pay for the consequences.'

Hermione kept her face blank, not allowing Isabelle to see how much this affected her.

'Not only will you not _ever_ get your wand back,' Isabelle continued in a smooth voice, 'but I will completely prevent a marriage between you and any other poor man from happening. And you will be stuck here...'

_Forever_, Hermione finished the sentence silently.

Hermione gave a stiff nod, and turned to go back to washing the dishes.

'Oh, and Hermione?' Isabelle said, making Hermione turn around.

'Yes?' she asked, eyeing Isabelle warily.

Isabelle took her glass of half-filled wine, and turned it upside down, so that its contents spilled out onto the white Persian carpet.

Hermione gritted her teeth.

'Clean that up,' Isabelle said, getting up and with a sweep of her long cloak, she had left.

**-X-**

'She has _spies_?' Ron repeated incredulously.

Hermione dipped her spoon back into her plastic cup. 'Yip.'

'She could be lying,' Harry pointed out, taking another spoon of his ice-cream.

Hermione nodded. 'I thought about that, but I rather not risk it.'

Harry sighed, playing around with his dessert.

'Hermione...' Ron said slowly, staring off into space.

Hermione looked up at him, observing the thoughtful expression that graced his features.

'I think I thought of something,' Ron said.

'Not again, Ron,' Harry sighed.

'No, really!' Ron said seriously.

'Let's hear it then,' Hermione said, leaning on her hand to look at him.

'Run away with us,' Ron said in a hushed tone, looking around them.

'If only it were that easy,' Hermione said, sounding dejected.

'She's got the stolen will against her,' Harry said.

Ron groaned.

Hermione nodded. 'And Isabelle can use that against me to keep me at home. It'll give her bait to make the Ministry keep an eye on me.'

Ron shook his head. 'This is bloody insane!' he said. As is the case with a frustrated Ron, he began muttering under his breath.

Hermione looked away from them, her attention on a family walking down Diagon Alley. The little girl held her parents' hands tightly, running and then jumping in the air, letting her parents swing her. Run, run, run, _jump. _Run, run, run_, jump_. Run, run, run –

'Marry me, Hermione,' Ron interrupted, jerking her quickly out of her distraction.

Harry choked. How it was possible to choke on ice-cream, only Harry knew. But choke on it he did.

Hermione glared at Ron. 'Ron, you're going out with Pansy Parkinson,' she stated.

Ron waved his hand impatiently. 'She won't mind,' he said in an offhand manner.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. 'Your girlfriend of two years won't mind you marrying one of your best friends?'

Ron looked at Harry. 'Well,' Ron said slowly. 'If it was Harry, she'd mind like hell.'

'Your _other_ best friend, Ron,' Hermione said, tapping her spoon against the side of her cup.

Ron shrugged. 'I'll explain everything to her. Don't worry.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not that I don't trust her, but the fewer people who know, the better.'

Harry tilted his head. 'How, exactly, is that not not trusting Pansy?' he asked, deliberately trying to be cheeky.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'You know what I mean, Harry.'

'If money's a problem, Hermione—' Harry started saying.

Hermione held up a hand. 'Oh, no you don't Harry Potter,' she scolded. 'I will not start accepting charity in the form of money or...' she trailed off looking at Ron, '...marriage.'

Ron grinned. 'It won't kill you, Hermione,' he said good-naturedly, and Harry nodded in agreement. Yet, both of them knew that nothing they said would influence her decision.

'True,' she said. She strummed her fingers against the table. 'But I won't accept either of your propositions.'

'Then? Do you want to die of elfish torture there?' Ron asked bluntly.

'I'm not being treated like an elf,' Hermione said, frowning.

Ron looked at her.

'I have clothes!' she insisted.

'Clothes, Hermione. What about...' Ron trailed off, looking at Harry to complete his sentence.

Harry nodded, and then said, 'Dignity?'

'Integrity,' Ron added, nodding.

'Self-respect,' Harry supplied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Now you boys are just being dramatic.'

'It would only be dramatic if it were false,' Harry philosophically pointed out.

'I have dignity!' Hermione said, averting her gaze.

'Uh huh,' Ron said, humouring her.

Harry said, 'Yeah, of course you do.'

Hermione's face took on a stern expression. 'It's my birthday! You're supposed to be on my side, here!'

Harry smiled. 'We are, which is why we're trying to help you.'

'Hmm,' Hermione hmm'ed. She looked at them thoughtfully. 'I think I know what I'm going to do.'

She looked at their expectant faces.

'I'm going to beat Isabelle Carmell at her own game.'

-to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: A beeeeeeeeeeeg thank you to those who reviewed my last chappie : ) I don't want to rush into the storyline yet – y'know, the Dramione action, and stuff. So hold on for a while.**


	3. Food

_Previously:_

_'Hmm,' Hermione hmm'ed. She looked at them thoughtfully. 'I think I know what I'm going to do.'_

_She looked at their expectant faces._

_'I'm going to beat Isabelle Carmell at her own game.'_

-FOOD-

'How?' Harry asked quizzically, abandoning his ice-cream. Ron slid it in front of him, digging into it immediately.

'I...' _don't know_, she finished silently. She bit her lip. After a while, she threw her hands up in the air. 'You know what? We shouldn't even be discussing this! It's my birthday!' she exclaimed, pasting on a huge smile.

Harry regarded her for a moment. He sighed, smiling too. 'I suppose it is. Want to take a walk?'

Hermione nodded, and then looked at Ron. 'You're coming?'

Ron grinned. 'Of course not, Hermione,' he sarcastically said. 'Because I'd ditch you for an ice-cream parlour.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Ron shrugged. 'Okay, not on your birthday, I wouldn't,' he acceded.

Hermione laughed. 'Thought so.'

They paid their bill, and left the parlour, walking arm in arm down the busy alley. They passed a couple of children who were throwing what appeared to be scrunched up paper balls at each other.

'Why can't kids just be born grown-up?' Ron grumbled, as he ducked a paper ball.

'Ron!' Hermione chided, bumping him on the arm.

'What?' Ron asked, shoving his hands into his pockets while Harry just shook his head. 'Think about it logically, Hermione. They would be born responsible, respectable, dignified –'

He was so involved in his little rant that he didn't have the time to dodge another paper ball. Before either Hermione or Harry could stop him, he whirled around, glaring angrily at the children. 'OY! That one was deliberate!' he bellowed, making sure they heard him.

'Ron, you're making a fool of yourself,' Harry said quietly, glancing around.

He rolled his head around to look at him, shaking the ball in his hand. 'Bloody idiots. They should be punished.'

'And I'm sure that their parents will put them in solitary confinement for eternity,' Hermione commented dryly. 'But your spectacle there just cost you the front page of the Daily Prophet, young man,' she said in part amusement, pointing at the flashes of cameras around them.

Ron glared, 'They chucked a _paper ball_ at me, Hermione,' he said, attempting to stress the importance of this heinous crime by holding the ball at a protruding tip and shaking it. Harry sighed and Hermione rolled her eyes. His shaking began to un-ball the paper, and he made it face him. 'A paper ball of a stupid Masquerade...Masquerade...' he trailed off, his mouth dropping as the wording on the paper became clearer as he unscrunched the ball.

Hermione looked at him. 'Masquerade...?' she prompted.

'I got it!' Ron exclaimed, his eyes bulging.

'First page of the Prophet, yes,' Harry agreed.

'No, man,' Ron said. 'Here,' he said, shoving the crumpled page into Hermione's hands.

Hermione perused the page. She handed it back to him, shrugging. 'The Masquerade Duel, so what?' she asked, leading them over to Flourish & Blotts across the street.

'So what?' Ron echoed as they stepped into the cool shop. 'So what! Hermione, this is your chance!' he shouted excitedly. Hermione winced at the volume he chose to converse with. He received a few annoyed looks from some of the customers.

'My chance for _what?_' she asked absent-mindedly, as she went through the _Just In! _pile.

Ron's gaze swept around the room, and then he grasped her by the elbow, giving her only a few seconds to leave the book she'd been holding safely back in its place, and pulled her into a secluded corner of the shop. Harry followed, his eyebrows furrowed.

'Ron, what are you—' Hermione started asking.

He held up the squashed advertisement of the Masquerade Duel. 'This, Hermione, this is your chance,' he whispered earnestly.

'Why are we whispering?' Hermione whispered back.

'Isabitch's spies,' he murmured, looking around again.

'Ah, so this has to do with the—' Harry started, catching on.

Ron nodded. 'Precisely. You see, Hermione, this Masquerade Duel is your –'

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. 'My chance, I know. But at what, Ronald? My chance at watching Isabelle duel? I already know that she's a power—'

'No, Hermione,' Ron said, shaking his head. 'The chance at _you_ duelling.'

Her gaze snapped to his, suddenly seeing things a lot more clearly. She looked at the advertisement, slowly reaching for it. 'This looks...doable,' she murmured, scanning the page.

'Ron, your brilliance is truly –' Harry started saying.

'You dare say surprising –' Ron began menacingly.

'—appreciated,' Harry finished, quickly cutting passed his hesitation.

Ron stared at him. 'Appreciated?' he repeated. Harry shrugged, smiling. 'I come up with a bloody excellent idea to save Hermione and let her do something she's actually passionate about, and you say that my idea's _appreciated?_'

Harry looked away, suddenly finding a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where Not To Find Them_ highly fascinating. 'Uh, yeah.'

Ron fixed his glare on Harry. 'You were going to say surprising,' he accused.

Harry didn't say anything.

After a while, Ron let it go. 'Hm, I suppose you would've been right,' he mused. 'It's alright, I forgive you.'

Harry rolled his eyes, snapping the book shut. 'So, Hermione, are you up for it?'

Hermione wrenched her trance-like gaze from the paper. 'This might come as a surprise to you, but ... I don't really know how this works,' she muttered, feeling ashamed to admit this.

Ron clapped her on her shoulder, grinning, 'Which is why you have Harry and I!'

'Weren't you the one who suggested us being quiet?' Harry asked pointedly.

'Oh,' Ron said in much softer tones. 'Right.'

'Anyway, I just installed that new device that Gruffis Cracklefurn – you know the head of the Magical Devices Department? – designed. We can view live magical events very easily –' Harry was saying.

'So it's like a TV,' Hermione said.

'In theory, yes, but as soon as we switch the thing on, we get transported into it. Virtually, of course,' Harry added.

'Ah...' Hermione said, nodding. 'So it's like a 4D effect.'

'Precisely.'

'Er,' Ron said intelligently, not following a word of their mini-discussion. 'Point is, is that you can learn all there is to know about it from watching past duels.'

'You forget that I can't go anywhere,' Hermione pointed out.

Ron grimaced. 'Then we'll just have to do it the boring way.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow quizzically.

'You'll have to read up on it,' Harry supplied.

Hermione grinned. 'Boring to _you_, maybe.'

Harry grinned back. 'Of course, and if you don't understand, we'll explain it to you.'

'I think that I _quite_ understand the concept of –' Hermione started saying, when she was cut off by a smooth voice.

'Don't even try explaining the concept of a threesome with Granger.'

Hermione jumped, bumping her head on the low ceiling. She glared at the newcomer, who had the trademark smirk stuck to his mouth. 'Malfoy,' she snapped through gritted teeth, rubbing her head.

'And what a pleasure it is to see you, too, Granger,' he said charmingly, despite the hardness gathering in his eyes.

'Get lost, Malfoy,' Ron said, turning his back on Malfoy dismissively.

'Didn't your mother teach you to never turn your back on the enemy, Weasley?' Malfoy drawled, his wand appearing as if from nowhere. He idly twirled it through his fingers.

'And what makes you think that you're a threat to us?' asked Hermione sweetly, yet hostility was written all over her body. She was struggling not to clench her fists out of anger, only because one: this would only goad Malfoy, and two: she didn't want to crumple the advertisement to an unrecognisable extent.

'Ah, she still has her bark,' Malfoy commented, tilting his head, as if to analyse Hermione, and smirked.

'She bites, too,' Hermione said scathingly, her hands itching to take the black scarf that loosely hung from his neck and employ it as a noose.

She heard Harry draw in a sharp breath. Hermione shot a confused look at him, catching the frown on his face. Why would he object to her arguing with Malfoy? She turned back to face Malfoy.

He had his eyebrows raised, with an amused smile tugging at his lips. 'Kinky much, Granger?' he asked. Hermione felt the blood rush to her face as she realised that she had just shot herself in the foot.

'That wasn't what I meant, and you know it,' she bit out, this time not being able to resist clenching her fists. She heard the paper crackle in her hands.

'And in a bookshop, no less!' Malfoy remarked, ignoring her. 'Shame on you.'

'Screw you, Malfoy,' Hermione scoffed, and only then realised what she had just said. She bit her tongue, refusing to let her discomfort show.

He cocked an eyebrow, smirking. 'You really want to go there?'

'Don't go getting any smart ideas,' Hermione said, quickly recovering from her embarrassment and stepping forward towards him. _Do not make a scene. Don not make a scene. Do not make a scene..._ 'You could never handle a smart witch, Malfoy, and you know it.'

'Yeah, Malfoy,' Ron agreed before Malfoy could dignify Hermione with a response. 'And I repeat: Get. Out.'

Malfoy looked around the shop again. 'Well, I had absolutely no idea that you owned this shop, Weasley,' Malfoy said dryly. 'Do you even have the financial means to go around buying bookshops? You can't even buy books –'

'That's enough, Malfoy,' Harry said calmly, yet he narrowed his eyes.

Hermione had noticed that Malfoy hadn't responded to her comment about smart witches. She smiled in satisfaction.

'Oh please, Potter,' Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. He leaned on the staircase behind him. 'You can never get enough of me.'

Harry smiled thinly. 'Just because I work with you does not mean that I regard you as a —'

'Keep telling yourself that,' Malfoy said, smirking. Hermione was about to breathe a sigh of relief as he started to walk away, but stopped when he turned around. 'Oh, and I thought you three had the whole threesome thing nailed down to perfection by now?' His eyes gleamed.

Hermione sent another glare his way, gripping her wand tightly in her hand. His gaze dropped to it, and he had the audacity to laugh. 'Sure, Granger. Go for it.'

And with that, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

'Coward,' Ron muttered in disgust.

'But we always knew that,' Hermione sighed. She sat down on one of the book benches, and Ron joined her. Harry stood leaning against the wall opposite them.

'Everyone's saying how he's changed,' Ron suddenly said after a few moments of silence.

'Well, _everyone's _not of sound mentality,' Hermione sniffed. 'He's still a foul-mouthed, evil –'

'Normally, I would agree,' Harry said quickly, and he took on a reluctant look.

'I've never pegged you for a conformist, Harry,' Hermione groaned.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. 'Let me justify that quickly. I work with him, and yes, he's still an egotistical git to the third degree, but he's not a _prejudiced_ git.'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Right, right, and I fart packaged chocolate frogs,' he said crudely.

'It is rather ironic, though, don't you think?' Hermione asked.

'Chocolate frogs?' Ron asked, frowning because he couldn't see where this was going. 'Not really –'

'Malfoy being a lawyer,' Hermione interrupted. 'Lawyers fight for _other_ people. Malfoy fights for himself.'

'I suppose, but he's one of the best out there. All the criminals I arrest request him, and it's a lot of good money, Hermione –'

'-sure, because he's living in a squatter camp,' Ron said sarcastically.

'-and he's good at what he does...And Law Enforcement was the only faculty that would let him in after the war.'

'Ironic. Again,' Hermione said, her lips twitching.

'But if you think about—'

'Can we not?' Hermione asked. 'I finally have a chance of doing something about my situation, and we're talking about Draco bloody Malfoy!'

'Sorry,' Harry muttered. He took out his wand, waved it and muttered something unintelligible.

'I think the Abra Kadabra part is coming just now, Hermione,' Ron stage-whispered, waiting for sparks.

'You're hilarious, Ron,' Harry muttered. 'Duck.'

'What?' Ron asked, frowning at the grin on Harry's face. 'Duck for wh—_oof!'_

The force of a small stack of floating books knocked Ron to the floor. Hermione helped him up, laughing. Ron glared at Harry. 'I didn't get the memo that it's _"Let's-chuck-things-at-Ron-day"_,' he grumbled. 'Could've worn body armour, or something.'

Ignoring Ron's dramatics, Harry jerked his head at the books. 'Funny you should mention body armour...'

Hermione picked up a book and paged through it. 'This dates back to the eighteenth century,' she said, sounding surprised.

'You wouldn't have heard of it, because it went through a dry period that lasted for about ten years – most of which you spent at Hogwarts. That's why it seems like a relatively new thing.'

Hermione nodded, picking up another book. 'Dry period?' she asked, looking at Ron questioningly.

He shook his head. 'Don't ask – it's not really important.'

'Ah,' she said, angling the book so that she could see the diagrams.

'The contest's in three weeks, Hermione,' he said, 'but _everything_ you need to know is in there.'

Hermione nodded, still reading snippets from the book. Ron and Harry sat patiently watching her face change from various degrees of reaction: interest, curiosity, awed, shocked –

She gasped. _'Dumbledore_ took part in this?' she asked disbelievingly.

'Yip,' Ron said. 'But he got over it after a while...Winning all the time can get a bit boring, you know.' He rolled his eyes.

'And remember that the contest lasts for—'

'-three months, minus weekdays,' Hermione completed Harry's sentence. 'Yeah, I read that somewhere in here.'

'Right, so if you need us to create any diversions for you with the Carmells, then don't hesitate to ask,' Harry said.

'That won't be necessary, but thank you,' Hermione smiled at him. She got up, grabbing her purse from the bench. 'I need to go pay for these.'

'Already sorted,' Harry said, grinning.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'I don't need your charity, Harry,' she said crossly.

Harry shrugged. 'Early birthday present.'

'My birthday's today, Harry, and you already got me a present!'

'Early birthday present for next year,' he rectified.

Hermione deliberated for a moment.

'Oh come on, Hermione,' Ron groaned. 'Which is it? Your pride or your freedom?'

She glared at him. 'Fine.'

'There you go,' Harry smiled, patting her on the back.

'You know, from where I come from, it's customary to say thank you after receiving such a magnanimous gift...' Ron teased.

'Thank you, Harry,' she said, rolling her eyes and hugging him.

'Use a Reducing Charm to hide it and everything should be okay,' he instructed.

_And everything _should_ be okay_ was the thought that played a never-ending echo in her head.

* * *

Harry looked at his watch. Merlin, he was going to kill Hermione.

'Why can't you come with me again?' he grumbled to the person sitting on his bed, pulling on a sweatshirt.

'Mate, I already told you that it's Pansy's and my two-year-and-two-month anniversary,' Ron said, rolling his eyes at Harry's extreme reluctance.

'Happy anniversary,' Harry muttered, not feeling happy at all. He looked up into the mirror, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort out the mess. His arm fell down, and he sighed. It was no use. _None of it was any use_, he thought morosely.

'You'll be fine!' Ron assured him, playing with a gadget he found on Harry's bed.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his best friend. 'How is having supper with Sabine Carmell _fine_?' he gritted out between his teeth.

Ron, for fear of his own safety, held back a grin. 'It's just a date, Harry.'

Harry glared at him. 'It is _not _a date.'

'Forgive me if I'm wrong, Harry,' Ron said in a tone that implied that he was far from wrong. 'But the global definition of the word date is an engagement to go out socially with another person.'

Harry called on all the patience the world could offer him. '_Only_ if it's out of romantic interest. And this...this _thing_ is clearly not a romantic date.' He was starting to feel sick.

'But it's still a d—'

'Ron.'

'But –'

'_Ron_.'

'Fine, it's not a date,' Ron accepted.

'Thank you,' Harry said.

'But she's not going to kill you, Harry.'

Harry rolled his eyes, turning back to the mirror to analyse himself. 'We're talking about the girl – no, _animal_ – who will throw herself at me at any given chance, Ron.'

'At least she's not heavy,' Ron said, shrugging.

'At least she's not...' Harry repeated, and then cussed. 'That's not the point, Ron.'

Ron held up his hands. 'Mate, you should've _known _that this was all part of the package when you offed Voldemort. If you didn't want to have hysterical, screaming girl fans, then you shouldn't have killed him.'

'Technically speaking, he killed himself,' Harry pointed out.

'Two wands, two people, two spells,' Ron said. 'Do the math.'

Harry scratched his head, looking back at himself in the mirror. 'Maybe I can make myself look ugly,' he muttered.

'No chance of that happening, lover boy,' Ron said, laughing. 'The girl is so in love with you, she'd like you if your arse was glued to your face.'

Harry shot him a disturbed look. 'I don't think that that's magically possible.'

'Probably is.'

He sighed, not hearing Ron. 'I'm going to kill Hermione,' he said for what must have been the tenth time that evening.

'It's just a d—'

'Say date one more time,' Harry threatened.

'You just said it,' Ron childishly said.

'Ron, unless you want to stop coming to my house for food...' Harry began ominously.

Ron's laughed. 'Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I come here for your company, too.'

Harry refrained from insulting his best friend, and began searching for his shoes.

'Try to have fun,' Ron said after a while.

Harry looked at Ron over his shoulder. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ron, but in case it slipped your mind, _I'm engaged to your sister._'

Ron grinned, fiddling with the unfamiliar object in his hand. 'How is she taking the Sabine-news, by the way?'

'She's rather amused,' Harry said, frowning.

'As is everybody else,' Ron laughed. A sudden thought occurred to him. 'Hey, Harry?'

'What, Ron?' Harry asked, a bit harsher than he intended.

'What about the paparazzi? They're going to have a field day, er, night, about this...I know Gin, and she would never find _that _amusing.'

'Which is why Sabine's coming here,' Harry said grimly, not hiding his blatant contempt for the idea.

'Hermione's idea?'

'Mmf,' Harry mumbled, finally finding one of his shoes. He put it on, and began looking for the other one.

'Why don't you just _accio_ it, Harry?'

'Because if I do that, I'll have nothing to use up my time after that, and I will possibly come up with even more ideas of how to get out of this. But I'm doing it for Hermione so...Damn, I'm going to kill her.'

'Man, you're really against it,' Ron realised. Harry left the room, and travelled down one of the many passages in his house. 'What idea are you thinking about now?' he asked, raising his voice so that Harry could hear.

'Well,' called Harry from the room next door. 'Seeing that I have a whole room filled with potions – one being the Polyjuice Potion – I figured I could force you to drink it with my hair in it. At which point, I'll leave the house, put up some unbreakable wards barring your exit, and you'll be stuck here with Sabine.'

Ron's jaw dropped. Harry came back into the room, holding the other shoe in his hand. He smirked when he saw Ron's gobsmacked expression.

'Curse you and your overactive Auror mind,' Ron muttered, now eyeing him warily.

'I thought you didn't mind her,' Harry said cheerily.

'You get a kick out of tormenting people, Harry?'

'Only those I care about,' Harry teased.

'Where did this sudden burst of energy come from?' Ron questioned, worried about the stability of Harry's mind.

'Now that I found my shoe...' Harry said, dangling his shoe by the lace.

'Merlin, you're thinking, aren't you?' Ron asked.

'I'm not going to involve you in my plans, Ron. Relax,' Harry said smoothly.

'Ah,' Ron said. 'Nah, I wasn't worried about that,' he said, but visibly relaxed.

Harry raised a brow.

'No, really!' Ron said. 'I mean, I was just thinking about the many years of friendship we've shared, and how we've always stuck together, and helped each other out, and sorted out our problems together...that you couldn't possibly involve me in your love life.' He ended off his dramatic speech with a...wink.

Well, that wiped the amused look off Harry's face. 'Sabine is _not_ part of my love life!' he growled.

'Well, _she_ thinks she is,' Ron said, picking up the abandoned object again. 'Harry, what the bloody hell is this thing?'

'A pen, Ron. With a very sharp tip that can be used to puncture the carotid artery which would lead to a person bleeding to death. Just saying.'

Ron shrugged. 'I _breathe_ magic, Harry. Really, only magic can kill me,' he said, looking unfazed by Harry's indirect threat.

Harry tilted his head. 'Only one way to find out...'

Ron dropped the pen. 'Can I just say that you're quite a violent person?'

Harry smiled. 'Right, now leave.'

Ron laughed. 'Come on, Harry. You can't kick me out of your house just because I'm making digs at your love life.'

Harry tugged Ron, pulling him up as he said, 'But I can kick you out if my d—if _Sabine_ is coming in five minutes. Which she is. So, go.' He pushed Ron towards the door, and Ron held on to the doorframe. Harry was very strong, but so was Ron, and he held his ground.

'You were just about to say date,' he said, smiling widely.

'Out, Ron,' Harry snarled, pushing harder.

Ron gripped the doorframe harder. '_And_ I thought you wanted me to be here for you,' he said cheekily.

'And I thought that you didn't want to be running late for your _date_ with Pansy.'

All the resistance left Ron's body, and Harry – not expecting it – was still exerting a force on him. Ron tumbled to the floor. In the same second, he scrambled to his feet. 'SHIT! Pansy's going to _murder _me! Merlin, Harry, you _knew_ this!' He raced down the stairs, and Harry enjoyed a moment of amusement.

Ron threw the door to Grimmauld Place open, transfiguring his clothes into smart dinner-appropriate clothes. He shot a look over his shoulder at the house which was disappearing into the walls. 'Bloody hell,' Ron swore. 'Harry harbours an evil streak.' And with a hurried _pop!_ he Disapparated.

Harry shook his head, still laughing at the memory of Ron's panic-stricken face. Harry really wasn't the revenge-seeking type but ...

He glanced at his watch.

He suppressed a groan. Two minutes until the devil's spawn arrived. He glanced at his clothes again. Why had he tried to look nice anyway? He raced to his room, kicking off his shoes as her went. He stripped in split-second timing, throwing on something else he felt was more suitable for the occasion.

He heard the knock on his front door that was magically amplified to reverberate throughout his house. He took a look at his appearance. Ah. Much better.

He took a casual stroll down the stairs and opened the door, a smug look on his face.

'HARRY!' she squealed, throwing herself at him. Harry almost balked at the strong fragrance he caught. What, had she been involved in the bombing of a perfume store, or something? HE pasted on a smile anyway, and gently pushed her away from him.

Only then did they take in each other's appearance. She was dressed very – here, he grimaced, reluctant to admit it – nicely. Dark jeans, and a strappy top. Her eyes widened. 'Harry...did I wake you up, or something?' she looked utterly confused, the poor thing.

'Why?' he asked pleasantly, ushering her into his house.

So shocked was she that she didn't even blink at the majestic look of the interior. 'You're wearing creased pyjamas,' she said, her voice rising a few octaves.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, I hope that that's not a problem,' he said. 'I wanted you to feel...at home.' Inside, he wore a very very _very _big scowl, as each word tasted acidic. But on the outside, he had an easy smile.

Comprehension dawned on her and then she let out another doctor's-appointment-squeal. She pulled Harry to him, and embraced him tightly. 'I had no idea you felt that way, Harry,' she murmured into his ear. 'And you still look _very_ ...sexy.'

The smug look disappeared clean off his face and he bit his tongue, not wanting to be rude. He closed his eyes, imagining Ginny and her eyes and her smile and her hair and her laugh...

He drew away from Sabine, ten times calmer than before.

'It's ... good to see you again.'

She smiled. 'Same here,' she said, trying to grab his hand, but he very cleverly shoved both into the pockets his pyjama pants so kindly offered him.

'How's your sister?' he asked politely, leading her to the dining room.

'Well, you'll find out tomorrow,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Tomorrow?' he asked, stopping abruptly and turning to face her.

'Yes...Hermy didn't mention anything?' she asked, and Harry watched in mild repulsion as her pupils dilated in their sparkly blue surroundings. He took a step away from her.

'Uh, no...'

'Oh! Well, you have a date –' Harry didn't miss how she made a face at this, '-with her tomorrow evening.'

He took in a calm breath, focusing on Ginny again. 'Is that so?'

'You can call it off if you want!' Sabine said eagerly.

Harry thought of Hermione and her unfortunate predicament. 'No, no. It's fine,' he said in a dejected sigh. The things friends did for each other...

'Supper?' Sabine asked excitedly, when they entered the dining room.

Harry nodded, chivalrously seating her at the head of the table. She beamed. 'Good! Because I'm absolutely _starving_!'

Harry sat at the foot of the table – five chairs down from her. She frowned at this, and was about to say something when –

'Doppy!' Harry called.

A loud pop stung the air, and an elf dressed in shorts and a vest appeared. 'Mr Harry called, Sir?'

'Yes,' Harry said, attempting to smile but the news about Astina Carmell still disturbed him.. 'Please could you get us the…' he bent down to whisper the rest in the elf's ear. Sabine was paying keen attention to her nails, so she missed the entire exchange.

'Of course,' the elf said, bowing. He popped out of sight, and returned a second later with dishes in his hand.

Sabine stared down at her plate, her eager smile morphing into a straight line, and then her mouth dropped open unattractively.

'The Harry Potter specialty,' Harry said, indicating the food. Noticing her shock, the smug smile reappeared. He proceeded to dig into his food happily.

Sabine looked up at him aghast. 'The Harry Potter specialty is…_bread and butter?_'

Harry looked up, as if concerned. 'Oh, I'm so sorry! Doppy!'

_Pop!_

'Mr Harry?'

'You forgot the cheese.'

-to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: Okay, so I placed a lot of focus on Harry and Ron – especially Harry – but I don't want the story to be just about Dramione. They have friends, too : ) **


	4. Dimwitted Hermione

_**A/**_**N: Okay, okay, so I've been dead for a couple of months. I've been suffering from a severe case of writer's block: ( Anyway, here's a long chappie. And yes, Draco Malfoy's properly in the picture now : )**

_Previously:_

_' "It is my wish that she remain at home with my wife until she chooses to get married –' Hermione sat down slowly in her seat, disbelief racing through her system. ' "—It is also my wish that she dedicates her time and effort to the maintenance of the house, and helping my wife out in whatever way possible –" ' Hermione's eyes bulged.__What in the bloody name of – ' "-__This would mean that she would have to resign from her job until she chooses to marry—" ' ..._

_Hermione perused the page. She handed it back to him, shrugging. 'The Masquerade Duel, so what?' she asked..._

'_The contest's in three days, Hermione,' Harry said, 'but__everything__you need to know is in there.' ..._

-DIM-WITTED HERMIONE-

It was not customary for Hermione to be dim-witted. In fact, it was unheard of. Hermione Granger? Stupid? Pah! As if!

But recently, Hermione repeatedly challenged the world-known knowledge that she was an intelligent being. The moment she walked through the door after her lovely and productive day with her two best friends, Isabelle stuck out her hand, palm-up.

Unfortunately for Hermione, the only way to get to the outhouse – short of scaling walls – was to walk through the house. She clutched her handbag tightly, knowing that there were tens of mini-books that if Isabelle knew of, she would find a way to get Hermione imprisoned.

Hermione eyed the woman's hand confusedly.

'Wand,' Isabelle demanded. Hermione's heart sank. 'Now.' Her scathingly uttered words were punctuated with a fake, sweet smile.

Hermione clenched her wand, getting angry. 'But you gave it to me before –'

Isabelle rolled her eyes. 'It is apparent that wisdom does not come with age,' she sighed, as if she was getting tired. 'Why would I let you have your wand, Hermione, hm? So that you can attempt to break the wards? So that you can Disapparate? So that you can kill me in my sleep?'

Hermione smiled thinly. 'Oh trust me, you are not worth going to Azkaban for.'

Isabelle laughed lightly. 'You really don't mind me making your life more miserable, eh? If you did, you might just choose your words carefully...'

Hermione felt her nostrils flare. Who was _she_ to threaten _her_? 'I don't need a wand to feel powerful, Isabelle,' Hermione said bravely, her eyes flashing. Hating herself for it, she slapped her wand on to Isabelle's outstretched hand. Isabelle's fingers curled around the wand, narrowing her eyes, probably wondering what game Hermione was playing.

'I know I am a great witch, Isabelle,' Hermione said, glaring up at the tall woman. 'I do not need you to tell me otherwise.'

Hermione didn't give Isabelle time to say anything. With the grace of one who is seething with fury, she swept down the passage, and a few seconds later she was out of the house and in her cosy (which is the politically correct term for _stuffy, cramped and tiny_) outhouse.

She locked the door behind her the Muggle way – which was futile but she did it anyway. She drew her pink curtains, eyeing the edges of these curtains warily. When she was first sent – no, forced – she opened the door to find that a strawberry avalanche had taken place. The walls were pink, her bedding was pink, even the _furniture _was pink. And it wasn't that soft, quiet kind of pink. Oh no, not at all. It was _Hello Kitty_ all over again.

The edges of her curtains were laced with frills of pink organza, that had sew-in flowers splattered everywhere.

Hermione had swallowed, shutting her eyes. _Note to self_, she had thought. _Buy big sunglasses._

Isabelle had of course placed an Irremovable Paint Spell on the walls and furniture. The spell had countless advantages in the interior decorating world, but in Hermione's world? Zero. The curtains, too, were charmed to automatically repair themselves should any harm – i.e. tearing off of lace, frills, etc – come to them. This Hermione only realised when she had very angrily thrown a fit and had attempted to rip down the curtains, and tear the lace and frills off. She had smiled smugly, getting the sick satisfaction people usually do when their anger is taken out on damaging things. Her smug satisfaction was short-lived when she saw the lace and frills growing right back a minute later, and the curtains sailed out of her hands and hung themselves back up.

But magic had its flaws, she knew. So she attempted the same act every day. And every day, the curtains took longer to repair themselves – almost as if she was draining them of their magical energy.

Now, though, as she was looking at these curtains, she saw the lace repair itself from yesterday's incident.

_Almost there, _she thought. Of course, had a properly skilled witch or wizard performed the Automatic Repairing Spell on her curtains, the repairing process should have taken a consistent time of one minute to repair itself – no matter how many times it was damaged. From this, Hermione could only assume that one of the twins had done the spell, after their mother had been so exhausted after using Irremovable Paint on the walls.

Isabelle had made it crystal clear telling Hermione that the walls couldn't be repainted either.

Hermione dropped her bag on the table, glancing over when she heard the _thud_. She bit her lip. She had to hide those books, and she knew the exact place to hide them.

She crawled under her bed, barely even fitting. She held her breath, not allowing the dust to float up her nostrils and mess with her sinuses. With the reduced books in one hand, she used her other hand to slide open a panel in the floor. The panel opened with a click, revealing a small space just big enough for the ten or so books she carried. She dumped them in the space, and flicked the panel shut. She crawled out backwards, relieved to smell in cool, fresh air.

Straightening up, she head over to her Barbie-like vanity mirror, in front of which she had left a black permanent marker on the table. She picked it up, and walked towards the wall closest to the door. She glanced at yesterday's entry in indelible ink, and smiled a small smile. _Seeing Harry and Ron tomorrow! Can't wait : ) _

She uncapped the marker, and leaned in, writing:

_19 September 1999_

_20 today! Had a lovely time with Harry and Ron! What made today memorable was watching Ron stuff his face with ice-cream for a whole hour, non-stop. It's nice to know that even if we're mature, there's still a kid living inside all of us._

She closed the cap, leaning back. Her eyes flickered over her other entries on the wall. It turned out that it was possible to write on this wall, so to take out the babyishness of this room – and to be a bit rebellious herself – she took to penning diary entries that wouldn't give too much away if anyone was to read it.

On any ordinary day, writing on her wall was the best part of her day. It was what he looked forward to. She refused to write anything depressing, but instead wrote something optimistic, reminding herself that no matter how bad your day was, there would always be one moment in it that made it a little good.

She sat down cross-legged on her bed, leaning against her pillow for support. Closing her eyes, she wondered what on earth her new plan was going to be. It was impossible to read and learn from books as small as the ones that were sitting in the panel below the bed. She opened her eyes, staring straight into her reflection staring at her sadly from across the room. How had her life ended up like this?

She had been living a successful life. She had gone through an Auror training course for one year after Hogwarts. And this year she was out in the field doing something she was passionate about. Defending people, living an honest life, earning a good salary and only very _rarely_ killing people. But it hardly ever came to that, fortunately.

She crawled forward on her bed, shortening the distance between her and her reflection. She had had a good day – a wonderful day, even – but the only evidence of that was the pink tinge to her cheeks which was already fading. What did happiness look like? Where were the signs? How did you know where to look?

She narrowed her eyes. Isabelle could take away her wand, her house, her career, her friends...but she could never take away Hermione from her. She still had herself. But if Isabelle continued to have her way, and just trample all over her then Hermione wouldn't have Hermione anymore.

Hermione was going to do what she did best. Just not in the physical way. She was going to fight the system.

XXX

'What do you want?' Isabelle asked, not looking at Hermione as she paged through her latest edition of People magazine – the wizard-and-witch version.

Hermione smiled. Insincerely, of course. 'A job.'

Isabelle lowered her magazine to look at Hermione with narrowed her eyes. 'You already work for me.'

'I know that,' Hermione said nodding. 'But if you knew me, Isabelle – which clearly you don't, given the colour scheme of my room-'

Isabelle smirked, raising the magazine to read it again.

'-but if you knew me at _all,_ Isabelle, you would know that I _love_ to work. In fact, it's a hobby of mine to overwork myself.'

'Really?' Isabelle asked, her tone implying that she didn't believe the bright smile that Hermione was wearing.

Hermione nodded, opening her mouth to speak, when she was cut off by Isabelle.

Isabelle placed the magazine on the table, and folded back a corner of the table cloth, revealing the wooden surface of the table. She pointed at something, and Hermione glanced at it. 'Hermione, darling, come take a look at this coffee ring on this table,' Isabelle said, beckoning Hermione closer. 'And tell me that _that_ isn't a sign of how much you love to work.'

'It is covered by a tablecloth,' Hermione pointed out, feeling her patience slip away. She will _not_ lose this.

'Irrelevant,' Isabelle said sharply. 'The point is that you abandoned getting rid of it.'

'You and I both know that I worked on removing that coffee ring for a whole day, Isabelle,' Hermione said in a barely controlled voice. Isabelle was being deliberately annoying. 'Besides,' she continued in an offhand tone bordering on impatient, 'if you really cared, you would have easily removed it by magic.'

Isabelle tilted her head. 'Go on, Hermione. Go on being clever and cheeky.'

Hermione sighed. She looked at the chair next to Isabelle. 'May I...?' she asked, gesturing towards the chair. It sickened her that she had to ask permission to sit in a chair she used to previously sit frequently in.

'Of course not,' Isabelle snapped.

Hermione fought the urge to raise her eyebrows or roll her eyes. The woman's dramatics were turning out to be...well, dramatic.

'I want a job, Isabelle,' she stated, clenching her hands in tight fists behind her back.

Isabelle opened her magazine again. 'No.'

Hermione refused to give up. She chose her words carefully. 'What have I done to you? What have I done to live the life of a person on house arrest?'

'Existed,' Isabelle said simply. She leaned forward. 'I don't like you, Hermione – ' _Surprise, surprise, _Hermione thought. '-In fact, you're a pain in the bloody arse.'

Hermione saw a way out. 'Well, if I annoy you so much, wouldn't you like it better if I weren't here?'

Isabelle smiled coldly. 'You know what I think, Hermione? I think _you_ would like it better if you weren't here.'

Hermione took in a deep breath. How dim-witted could people possibly be? Isabelle was carrying on as if it was a huge secret that Hermione hated it there and wanted out. Wasn't it _obvious?_ 'No normal person would prefer being cooped up in the house day and night.'

'Let me hear your proposition, then,' Isabelle said suddenly, folding her magazine away, and crossing her arms.

Hermione eyed her hesitantly. Why the sudden change of heart in Isabelle?

'I just want to be away from home,' she said, mentally scoffing at the word 'home'. Clearing her throat, she continued, 'For just a few hours each day.'

Isabelle stared at her. Hermione stared back.

The staring contest went on for the longest minute Hermione had ever experienced.

'Fine.'

Hermione maintained her cool. 'Thank you,' she said.

Isabelle smiled, holding up a hand. 'Before you get too excited, there are a few...conditions,' she said.

Hermione swallowed a groan. She waited.

'You'll work in Muggle London.'

Hermione nodded. Away from magic, she got it.

'You'll work in a restaurant.'

Hermione hesitated before nodding. Restaurant? What did restaurants have anything to do with this?

'You'll work the six to ten shift –'

Hermione nodded. That was reasonable.

'-in the morning.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'What! Isabelle, which restaurant is open at six in the morning?'

Isabelle smirked. 'You'll find one.'

Hermione breathed in slowly, twiddling with her thumbs behind her back. 'Anymore conditions?'

'That's it.'

Hermione nodded, turning to leave.

'Oh, and of course, I'll be watching you.'

'You have spies in Muggle London at six in the morning?' Hermione asked, not believing it for a second.

'Maybe,' Isabelle said casually. 'I'll leave it to you to test whether I'm right or wrong.'

Hermione smiled thinly. 'Thank you for making this allowance.'

'Go find employment, Hermione.'

'Now? It's eight,' Hermione said, frowning as she looked at her watch.

'Well, let's hope they're not closing up then,' Isabelle said lightly, turning back to her magazine. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face. She held out the mug to Hermione. 'One minute in the micro.'

Hermione took the mug in her hands, holding it tighter than was necessary. She brought it back a minute or so later, and Isabelle took it. 'Ah, thank you.'

'I'll be going, then,' Hermione said, turning to go.

'One more thing,' Isabelle called out. This time, Hermione didn't turn around.

'Yes?' she asked over her shoulder.

'Astina needs help getting ready for her date with Harry Potter,' Isabelle said, and Hermione immediately understood what she meant.

Clenching her teeth, she replied, 'I'll see to it that she gets ready.'

Not waiting for Isabelle to respond, she walked out of the dining hall and up the stairs to the twins' shared room.

She stopped at the door, wrinkling her nose. '_What_ is that smell?'

'The poor use of magic,' Sabina answered from somewhere to Hermione's right. Hermione looked at her, noticing that she was already in bed, the blanket pulled right up to her chin as she sipped from her mug of hot chocolate as she perused her People magazine.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Your magazine is upside down,' she commented.

Sabina looked up sharply. 'Oh, um,' she said, quickly trying to flip the magazine right way up.

Hermione glimpsed a shocking sight. 'Are you hiding a...a _book_ behind that magazine of yours_?_' she asked Sabina, walking forward a bit just to see if it was true.

Sabina raised her eyebrows, pulling her "magazine" closer to her chest, attempting to look innocent. 'I'm sorry? Hermione, honestly, I –'

Hermione shook her head, deciding that she wasn't interested. 'Forget it,' she said, and looked around the room. 'Where is Astina? I'm actually in a bit of a rush.'

As if on cue, Astina walked out of the bathroom. Hermione's eyes stung from the overuse of perfume; her nose scrunched up, and she edged away, deciding to lean against the doorframe, than be anywhere near Astina.

Astina twirled around. 'And? How do I look?' she asked, smiling.

Hermione smiled, but not because she thought that Astina looked appealing. Her step-sisters were pretty, but they weren't as pretty as they made themselves out to be. To her, Astina looked like any other normal girl going out on a date. No, Hermione smiled because she realised that there was nothing for her to do. Astina was already ready. She was even carrying a matching handbag.

Astina cleared her throat delicately, not liking that no one was responding to her question. 'Sab?'

Sabina didn't look up.

'Sab?' Astina asked in a louder voice.

Sabina looked up, giving Astina the once-over. 'Alright, I suppose,' she said, shrugging.

Hermione winced, knowing what was coming.

'YOU SUPPOSE?' Astina screamed. Hermione mentally counted to ten.

'Yip,' Sabina said returning to her magazine.

Astina was literally breathing fire. 'Fine,' she said, her nostrils flaring indelicately. 'I can take it. What is it that you don't like about my outfit?'

Sabina looked up again, sighing. Hermione could tell it was all an act, and yet Astina – Sabina's sister of eighteen years – couldn't. 'I like it,' she said, in a tone that clearly indicated otherwise.

Astina pursed her lips. 'Stop lying to me.'

Sabina took a deep breath. 'You read the magazines, too, Tina. You know what clothes Harry likes on a woman.'

'Exactly. Which is why I'm wearing his favourite colour,' Astina said, motioning towards her dress.

'Powder-blue is _not _his favourite colour.'

'But that's what it says in the _Potty About Potter _magazine!'

'I _personally_ know that it's bright pink,' Sabina said.

'Bright _pink? _Bright pink! How would you know that?'

'He whispered it into my ear last night,' Sabina said, allowing herself a small smile.

Astina looked horrified. She whirled on Hermione, who was patiently waiting for the two to just stop. 'Hermione! You know Transfiguration well!' she yelled, sounding agitated.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised at Astina's sudden outburst. 'Yes...'

'Well!' Astina exclaimed, looking pained. 'Change the colour of this dress to bright pink!'

Hermione bit back an insult. 'That's not Transfiguration, Astina,' she said slowly. 'That's a simple Colour-changing Sp—'

'I don't _care_ what it is! Just do it!' she yelled, shoving her wand into Hermione's hand.

Hermione gasped softly. She held the wand a bit tighter, looking up at Astina hesitantly. 'I'm not allowed using wands in this house, Astina,' she said in a levelled tone.

'She's right,' Sabina said.

'I don't care,' Astina snapped. 'You're the only one in this room who can do the spell, Hermione! So would you bloody well do it! I'm running late!'

Her words reminded Hermione of her own dilemma, and she looked at the time. _Shit._ 20h20.

'Why don't you ask your mother, Astina?' she asked quickly, knowing that if she was caught with a wand, Isabelle would make her life a living hell. Even more so.

'Because she's on the other side of the bloody house!' Astina yelled. Hermione looked over at Sabina who looked as if she was reading, but Hermione could see that she was smiling at her sister's behaviour.

Hermione, not wanting to go deaf, decided to use the wand. She pretended to put on a thinking face, whilst in the meantime, she magically probed the wards on the outside of the house, feling the wand vibrate slightly due to Hermione using it. _What spells was Isabelle using? _Hermione picked up two, maybe three spells that were used to create the wards, but knew that if she tried to counter any of them – even subtly – Isabelle would find out. She looked at Astina who was tapping her foot impatiently.

Rolling her eyes, she flicked the wand wordlessly, and a second later, Astina was wearing a bright pink dress. Astina looked down at the dress, and then at Hermione. She snatched her wand back, stuck her nose in the air and stalked out of the room.

Hermione was at the door when she heard Sabina say, 'Idiot. His favourite colour is green. _Everyone_ knows that. Bright pink? Seriously?'

Hermione shook her head, and left the room, the house, and finally she was out on the street, looking for a job.

Xxx

It was now 23h30, and she hadn't come across a single restaurant or cafe that was open 24 hours a day. The streets were almost empty, it was freezing and Hermione had no idea where she was going.

A rumbling in the sky jolted her. _Great. A storm_. She didn't even have an umbrella on her.

A couple minutes later, when she was still wandering around aimlessly, the skies broke open. Cursing, she raised her hands above her head and ran to the nearest shelter, which was right next to a closed flower shop. She blinked away the rain that had fallen into her eyes, and looked venomously at the pouring rain. _Why now?_

She looked around her, noticing that there wasn't a open shop in sight, and only a few shifty-looking people were walking down the street. Well, anyone who was walking around at this hour probably looked shifty.

She leaned against the wall, felt something sharp prod her and stood bolt upright. She turned around, noticing for the first time that a pointed fading-gold handle had appeared in the wall. She bent down, trying to get a closer look of the handle. _I'm sure it wasn't there before...I would've noticed it._ At the tip of the handle was an engraving of a dragon's head. _Odd_.

Slowly, she inched her hand forward toward the handle, knowing that if this was a movie, the scary music would've started to play. But as soon as she touched it, a warm feeling tingled up her arm, which starkly contrasting the freezing cold weather the rest of her body was being abused by.

As soon as she touched the handle, a door began to gradually materialise in front of her. Her eyes widened in hesitant excitement, and her heartbeat picked up its pace. _This is magic!_ She looked over her shoulder, noticing that there wasn't anyone in the street now. She turned the handle, and pushed. The door slid soundlessly open.

Warm light and laughter were the first two things that arrested her senses. She quickly hopped in and shut the door open, noticing that as soon as her touch left it, the door disappeared. She was nearly knocked over by someone carrying a tray of glasses that smelled of Butterbeer. Hermione smiled, taking a step backwards, surveying the spacious room around her. Round wooden tables were scattered around the restaurant, each topped with a candle feature. A bar stretched down the length of the room, and she saw one of the barmen (there were 4) juggling four glasses filled with alcohol – probably charmed to not spill. Waiters and waitresses were dressed in red and white and black. Soft music sailed through the air, mixing with the whispers and laughter of the people in the restaurant.

The warm, light atmosphere in the restaurant was infectious. She walked up to the young-looking man at the welcoming table.

'Hello,' she said softly.

The man looked up. He had wonderfully blue eyes that contrasted beautifully with his brown hair that seemed to be deliberately tousled. 'Good evening, ma'am,' he said, smiling. Ah, dimples, too. 'Table for one?'

Hermione smiled. 'No, thank you,' she said. 'I was wondering if I could speak to your manager?'

The waiter looked hesitant, probably wondering if this was a customer filing a complaint.

'Please,' she added, wondering if her last chance was slipping away from her.

He regarded her for a moment, and then smiled again. 'Not a problem.' Taking out his wand, he said, 'Let me just notify him.'

He flicked his wand, a patronus of a six-winged bird appearing. With another flick of his wand, the patronus was off, disappearing.

Hermione returned her gaze to him, noticing that he was staring at her rather intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She was about to open her mouth to ask him something, when he stuck his hand out from behind his desk. 'Alex,' he said, smiling again.

Hermione took his hand, shaking it, 'Hermione.'

He stopped shaking her hand, his smile faltering. 'Hermione? Hermione Granger?'

Hermione drew her eyebrows together. 'Unfortunately,' she said, giving a half-hearted grin. His mouth dropped into an O. 'Am I in trouble?'

He grasped her hand more tightly. 'Wow, in the flesh, huh?' he said, now grinning himself.

Hermione nodded slowly. The hype of the war died down a couple of months ago. Sure, people still greeted her, and her pictures used to appear in the papers, but it had been a while since she had been greeted with such enthusiasm.

'Thank you,' she said, smiling. 'It was time Voldemort was defeated, don't you think?'

He let go of her hand now. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her intently. 'Voldemort? I'm not talking about him,' he said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Oh?'

'I mean, yeah, it's bloody amazing that he's dead, but I was talking about that murder case of yours!'

Hermione tilted her head. 'Sorry?'

He gave a sheepish smile. 'I actually have an obsession with murder cases. I like to solve them. And what you did with Rufus Lorky's case was absolutely brilliant. And you handled that one all by yourself! Brilliant,' he said, sounding awed.

Comprehension dawned upon Hermione. 'Oh! Murder case number 50—'

'-59,' Alex finished off, grinning. 'I know.'

'But how? All of that information's classified,' she said, narrowing her eyes, suddenly suspicious of the handsome Alex.

His smile faltered. He held up his hands. 'I hope you're not thinking I'm some criminal, or anything, Hermione!' he said, sounding worried.

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. She didn't like the way he said her name – as if they had been friends for a long time. She took a step backwards. 'Then?'

'I'm actually an intern in the Criminal and Defence Department,' he said quickly, hoping to erase any shadow of doubt she had about him. 'All the old cases from the Auror Unit is passed down to us.'

'Ah,' Hermione said, looking away, wondering if the manager had received Alex's message.

'So tell me something—' Alex began, but was cut off by a sharp voice.

'You're supposed to be assisting the customers, Alex – not harassing them.'

Hermione knew that voice. She knew it well.

She turned to the person who owned the voice, and narrowed her eyes. 'You have no right to tell him what his job is, Malfoy,' she said scathingly.

'Er, Hermione...' Alex was saying.

She turned to him, holding up a finger. 'No, Alex, just give me a second. You don't understand this man.' Alex licked his lips nervously.

'For your information,' she began, glaring up at him, 'Alex was being perfectly nice.'

'He was not paying attention to any of the other customers, Granger,' Malfoy said, crossing his arms. This action made him look even more condescending, added to his traditional smirk.

'I am so sorry, Mr Malfoy, sir,' Alex said quickly, abruptly turning to address the other customers.

Hermione shook her head incredulously. 'You have no right to go around bullying the staff at this restaurant, Malfoy,' she snapped, placing a hand on her hip.

'And why not?' Malfoy asked, sounding...amused? Was that amusement in his voice?

Hermione clenched her teeth. 'Why not? Why not? Malfoy! What a stupid question!'

Malfoy looked around them, noticing that a few people were looking their way. He gave them a smile, and turned back to face her, the smile immediately dropping. 'I'd appreciate if you stop creating a scene, Granger,' he said quietly, his grey eyes glinting.

Hermione raised an eyebrow challengingly. 'You'd _appreciate_ it?'

The customers at the desk cleared, and Alex came back to their side. 'Mr Malfoy, sir, I am _so_ sorry about earlier—'

Malfoy looked at him sharply.

Alex nodded. 'Okay, sir, shutting up right now.'

Hermione poked Malfoy in the chest. 'Who do you think you are, ordering Alex around?'

Malfoy looked down at her finger which was still poking him. He lifted his hand, picking hr finger off him as if it were a piece of flint. 'The manager, Granger. I understand you wanted to speak to me?'


	5. Annoyed

_**A/**_**N: Uh, so I noticed that I last updated 2 months ago. Whoops. Exams can be hectic : / This chappie's all about dramione,so hope you enjoy : )**

-ANNOYED-

Hermione shook her head incredulously. 'You have no right to go around bullying the staff at this restaurant, Malfoy,' she snapped, placing a hand on her hip.

'And why not?' Malfoy asked, sounding...amused? Was that amusement in his voice?

Hermione clenched her teeth. 'Why not? Why not? Malfoy! What a stupid question!'

Malfoy looked around them, noticing that a few people were looking their way. He gave them a smile, and turned back to face her, the smile immediately dropping. 'I'd appreciate if you stop creating a scene, Granger,' he said quietly, his grey eyes glinting.

Hermione raised an eyebrow challengingly. 'You'd _appreciate_ it?'

The customers at the desk cleared, and Alex came back to their side. 'Mr Malfoy, sir, I am _so_ sorry about earlier—'

Malfoy looked at him sharply.

Alex nodded. 'Okay, sir, shutting up right now.'

Hermione poked Malfoy in the chest. 'Who do you think you are, ordering Alex around?'

Malfoy looked down at her finger which was still poking him. He lifted his hand, picking hr finger off him as if it were a piece of flint. 'The manager, Granger. I understand you wanted to speak to me?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sure, Malfoy.' Dismissively she turned towards Alex, who was staring at her as if she had grown an extra head. Ignoring the look, she said, 'Look, if the manager is busy, do you think I could leave him a message?'

She felt a cold breeze rush against her skin – and she turned, to find Malfoy walking away, the sound of his footsteps being absorbed by the plush carpet. 'I guess it was a rumour after all,' he called over his shoulder.

She glared at his back, knowing the effect was lost on him. 'What rumour?' she snapped.

He paused, turning around. Shooting her a devilish grin, he said, 'That you are the smartest witch of our age.'

She made a huge point of turning away from him, focusing her attention on the inscriptions on the reception desk. Apparently, this restaurant was relatively new. She leaned closer, noticing that the golden lettering reflected the year _**1998**_. That was a year ago. If she leaned in a bit more closely, she would be able to see the names of the staff...

Somewhere on her right, she heard the vague _click_ of a door being closed, the sound pulling her out of her attention on the writing. An elderly couple stood next to her, verifying their booking with Alex.

'—and if you follow Abigail,' he was saying, and a woman with long curly red hair, and bold green eyes appeared on his right, smiling at the couple, '-she'll show you where your table is.'

Hermione watched as the couple hobbled behind the mesmerising Abigail, who seemed to be walking extra slowly to accommodate for the couple.

Hermione glanced at the clock that hung on the wall behind Alex. Its Roman numerals were lost behind its shadows created by the candlelight, but she could still see the time. It was late. Very late. As in 2 o-clock in the morning kind of late. 'I had no idea that old people were up this late,' she said quietly to Alex, who was waving his wand over a book that was filled with numbers and crisp parchment.

He didn't pause in his wand movement as he replied, 'You would be surprised,' he murmured, 'by the types of people that pitch up here. At the oddest of times, too.'

His voice had a softness to it that seemed to mesh well with the ambience of the restaurant.

'Out of interest,' Hermione began, 'what time does this place close?'

Alex glanced up. 'Never,' he replied, closing his book, and pushing it aside.

Hermione couldn't believe her luck! This place was perfect. It met all of Isabelle's requirements. Well, besides being a place that seemed to breathe magic, it was set in Muggle London, and it was also always open. She would probably be able to overstep that very minor detail of it being a non-Muggle restaurant. Now if she could just speak to the manager...

'Um, Alex,' she said again.

His enthusiasm for her company had completely evaporated, and Hermione could hardly believe that just a few moments ago, he had been bubbling with eagerness about her job. Right now, he was hardly paying her any attention. In fact, ever since Malfoy had left, Alex seemed to have adopted a tangible serious attitude.

'Yes?' he asked, his quill poised to begin a new series of entries into the book.

'How long do you think he's going to take?'

'How long is who going to take?' he asked, lifting up what looked like a receipt, squinting, and then jotted something else down in the book. He looked at the receipt again, and his eyebrows pulled together. He showed her the slip. 'Tell me something, does that look like a _9_ or a _4_?' he asked, pointing towards the elegant scrawl of one _Mr B Hues_.

Hermione leaned in to have a better look. 'It's a _9_,' she answered, and he nodded, taking the slip. He waved his wand, and the slip disappeared. As she watched him neatly write down the number _9_ into the book, she said, 'The manager. How long do you think he's going to—'

'Hermione', Alex said slowly, deciding to abandon his quill and book.

'Yes?'

'Let me ask you something,' he said.

She nodded slowly, unable to predict where this conversation was going.

'What is the name of this restaurant?'

'Uhh,' Hermione said, looking around. She spotted a huge sign that reminded her vaguely of the _'Welcome Home'_ sign that her mother had hung from the frame of their front door. She pointed at it, and Alex didn't even turn around. He knew what the sign said. '_Dragon's Head_,' she read, briefly marvelling at the way the golden lettering glimmered in the candlelight.

'Right,' Alex said, nodding, a lock of dark brown hair falling into his eyes. He jerked his head slightly, forcing the obstruction away. 'And what does Mr Malfoy's first name mean in Latin?'

_He's talking about Draco Malfoy_, she realised. The answer was on her tongue and she was about to tell him the answer, when her mouth dropped open slightly.

'Crap,' she said, feeling her heart slowly shorten the time between its beats as she became increasingly aware of her situation. 'Crap,' she said again. She ran a hand through her hair, not noticing how Alex followed the movement.

'Exactly,' he said. 'So, technically speaking, you have already met with the manager,' he said, jerking his head towards his left, the direction in which Malfoy had exited.

'Do you think I could...maybe go there now...' she said, trailing off, knowing that the idea sounded implausible.

Alex leaned his head on his hand. 'Mr Malfoy can be...difficult,' he said.

'Tell me about it,' she said, sighing. 'So, now what?'

He cocked an eyebrow. 'You want _my_ help?'

'You see,' Hermione began, 'Malfoy and I...we have a ...history.' She saw Alex's eyes widen in surprise. 'No!' she exclaimed, realising what he must have thought. 'Not like _that_.' He nodded, his face arranged in amused disbelief. 'I'm being serious,' Hermione said, suddenly annoyed that Alex didn't believe her. 'We both seem to repel each other. Our history is...dirty.'

Alex shrugged, pulling himself up to his full height, looking over her shoulder. She glanced behind her, noticing that more customers stood at the entrance. 'So use your womanly wiles,' he said, winking at her.

Hermione felt her face flood with heat. She dipped her head down, hoping that he would not notice.

'Trust me,' Alex was saying, 'So long as you do it right...'

Hermione was feeling really embarrassed. Hermione Granger did not flirt. She especially did not flirt to manipulate men. She was thankful for the new crowd of customers that pushed her away from Alex. He grinned at her over their heads, giving her the thumbs up. Hermione looked away, and walked in the general direction that Malfoy had previously headed in. Silently she cursed herself. _Draco_ meant _dragon_ in Latin. How could she have been so stupid?

Malfoy was probably laughing at her right now.

She looked around, unsure of where she was going. She spotted the woman from earlier – Abigail. She was talking to another waiter, her hand resting delicately on the man's shoulder. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made Abigail laugh. Hermione, feeling uncomfortable, cleared her throat.

There were no other waiters around for her to ask, so she cleared her throat again. Abigail looked over her shoulder, noticing Hermione. She turned around, a warm smile on her face. 'Can I help you?'

'Yes, I, uh, was wondering where Mal – _Mr_ Malfoy's office is?' It came out as a question.

Abigail's smile seemed to lose some of its warmth. Her eyes raked Hermione up and down, making her feel self-conscious. She folded her hands into each other behind her back, uncomfortable under the girl's gaze.

'Why?' Abigail asked, a trace of suspicion in her voice.

'Abigail,' the man behind her said, a hint of warning in his tone. Hermione looked at him. He was tall, and just as handsome as Alex. He had blond hair that reached his shoulders, and had a light stubble that added to his roguishness. _Is _everyone_ who works at this restaurant good-looking?_ Hermione wondered. If that was the case, she'd feel terribly out of place. And that was only _if_ Malfoy gave her a chance.

Unlikely.

Right now, the boy's mouth was set in a deep frown as he looked at Abigail.

'It's just a question, Josh,' Abigail said, still looking at Hermione. She pushed herself away from Josh, facing Hermione head on. Hermione knew what clothes she had on; knew that they didn't impress her one bit. She just had her slacks and a shirt she had thrown on. The atmosphere in the restaurant didn't make her feel out of place, but now, under the penetrating stare of Abigail, she suddenly _did_ feel out of place.

'I need to speak with him,' Hermione said, attempting to ignore her discomfort.

'About...' Abigail prompted, gesturing with her hands for her to continue. The boy – Josh – let out a frustrated sigh, and walked away, apparently to see to one of his tables.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, starting to get annoyed at Abigail's personal questions.

She lifted her chin. 'I don't think that that's any of your business,' she said in a levelled tone.

Abigail took a light step forward. 'Really? Because I—'

'Abigail,' came a smooth voice. Both Hermione and Abigail looked up, and Hermione didn't know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed or annoyed. Malfoy was leaning against the door of what Hermione assumed was his office.

'Draco,' Abigail acknowledged softly, and Hermione glanced at her, noticing how Abigail's entire body language changed. The waves of animosity that had been rolling off her just a few moments ago came to a standstill. She had a small, playful smile on her face.

Hermione rolled her eyes. So there was something going on between them, she surmised. Abigail had probably seen Hermione as a threat. Hermione mentally scoffed. _As if._

'Mr Malfoy,' Malfoy corrected Abigail, his lips pulled into a straight, thin line. 'Or Sir,' he added, his gaze narrowing in disapproval.

Hermione's gaze flickered to Abigail, who stared back at Malfoy unflinchingly. 'Should I curtsey as well?' she asked mockingly.

Malfoy wasn't a far distance away from them, so Hermione could see how he clenched his jaw. 'Table 13 needs seeing to,' he snapped.

Abigail lightly turned on her feet, and Hermione raised her eyebrows as she saw how Abigail's hips swayed lightly...deliberately.

Ah, the skilful art of flirtation. Hermione rolled her eyes. Realising where she was, she steeled herself, looking back at Malfoy. He was looking at her now, his expression contemplative.

Silently, he stepped into his office, and Hermione knew she had to follow. She looked back behind her, seeing that Alex was still busy with customers. Sighing, she followed Malfoy into his office.

He had already taken a seat at his desk, his feet coming up to rest on his table.

She opened her mouth to say something, when he said, 'Close the door, please.' His tone was polite, but she could see the vague traces of amusement back in his eyes.

She bit her lip, forcing the words down. She needed this job. Desperately. She did as he requested, and sat down. He was looking at her in slight confusion.

'Granger, where's your wand?' he asked.

She sucked in a breath. She couldn't exactly tell him that Isabelle had her wand, could she? So she deflected his question. 'Speaking of, you could have used yours to close the door,' she said.

'Ah, the Granger snark,' he remarked, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. She couldn't help but notice that as he did this, his arm muscles pushed against the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

'It's not snark – it's wit.'

'With you, the two are synonymous,' he replied, shrugging.

She bit back her next reply. _I need this I need this I need this..._she reminded herself.

Malfoy looked at, his amusement hardly concealed now. He dropped his feet down from his table, and leaned forward. 'You must want something really badly from me for you to back down from retorting,' he murmured, a small smirk gracing his lips.

Hermione leaned away instinctively. Where was the cold Malfoy she had parted from two years ago? Where was the prejudiced Malfoy who could not stand being alone with a person of so-called inferior birth? In his place stood – _sat, _Hermione mentally corrected – a man who seemed to be...

No, she wouldn't think it.

'I need a job,' she suddenly blurted out. Then she bit her tongue. Damn, she had planned this so much better.

But she knew that she couldn't unsay it, so she just looked up at him.

He sat back in his chair, regarding her coolly. 'Why?'

She clenched and unclenched her hands which were beneath the desk. 'Because.'

'Because...' he said, gesturing for her to continue.

She lifted her shoulders up and then down. 'Just because.'

'Come now, Granger, we're not six-year-olds,' he said, smirking. 'Now tell me.'

'I have my reasons, Malfoy,' she said. When it looked as if he was waiting for her to continue, she added, '_Personal_ reasons.'

'Here at _Dragon's Head_, we have a 'No personal issues' policy,' he said, a quiet, evil grin on his face.

'That's funny. That outside there didn't look personal _at all_,' Hermione remarked, jerking her head behind her, in reference to the Abigail-Malfoy incident.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. 'Jealous?'

Hermione gave an indelicate snort.

Malfoy tapped his chin. 'You know, for someone who seems desperate – ' he ignored her angry glare at the word 'desperate', '– to work for me, you sure aren't making it easy for yourself.'

'Look,' she said, trying to maintain the evenness in her tone, 'I am trying –'

Malfoy shook his head. 'I beg to differ.'

Hermione glared at him. 'I need a job, Malfoy.'

'And you think I'm going to grant you one? Just like that? Just because the great and famous Hermione Granger swoops into my office, and demands a job, I should give it to her?' he asked, his questions asked in a quiet, rapid succession.

Hermione narrowed her gaze at him, and leaned forward. 'First of all, Malfoy, I didn't _swoop_ into your office. I followed you, per your request. And secondly, I didn't _demand_ –'

'Okay, first of all,' he said, cutting across her, holding up a finger, 'I didn't _request _that you follow me. It was expected,' he added with an air of arrogance that angered Hermione. 'And secondly,' he said, holding up another finger, 'yes, you _did_ demand a job, Granger. In fact, you told me, twice, that you _needed_ a job, and then you wouldn't even tell me why. You're not even treating this professionally –'

'-and arguing with a potential employee is professional?' she countered.

'It's acceptable if the person has no potential to be an employee.'

'Are you saying that you're not going to employ me, Malfoy?'

Malfoy smirked. 'I had my mind made up the moment you rejected the fact that I manage this restaurant.'

Hermione's nostrils flared, and she could feel her body's temperature increase from their heated argument. 'At that point, you wouldn't have known my purpose for coming here,' she pointed out.

His smirk didn't even waver. 'I had already decided to decline any request you were going to make.'

Hermione took in a deep breath. 'Are you telling me that I wasted forty minutes of my time—'

'Forty-five, actually,' he corrected.

She closed her eyes. She had blown her last chance of getting an ounce of freedom. She was partly to blame for that. Now what? When she opened her eyes, Malfoy was staring at her, an odd expression she couldn't name on his face.

She pushed herself away from his desk, and stood up. 'Thank you very much for your time, Malfoy,' she said in a formal tone.

'See ya around, Granger,' he said, grinning.

Hermione stared at him, shaking her head incredulously. He was enjoying this. The idiot was damn enjoying this.

She had her hand on the doorknob, when an idea occurred to her. 'Malfoy, do you know if there are any other twenty-four hour restaurants around in Muggle London?' She didn't know why she was asking him to help her when he had so blatantly refused to employ her, but she tried her luck anyway.

'Nope,' he said, still grinning.

Merlin, was he insufferable! 'No, you don't know, or no, there aren't any?' she asked, battling for composure.

'Both.'

She growled. Yes, Hermione Granger _growled_. She was that angry. 'Are you doing this deliberately?'

'Did you just growl at me, Granger?' he asked, amusement written all over his features.

She turned her back on him, threw open his door, not caring that it banged against the wall. She stalked out of his office, ignoring the surprised looks of the customers she walked passed. She marched passed the reception desk, ignoring Alex's 'Woah, Hermione!'. She walked right up until the point where she had first landed, where the door had taken her to, but the door had disappeared after that. The door wasn't there now. She looked around helplessly, trying not to feel embarrassed.

She felt a warm hand on her arm, and was about to yank her arm away, thinking it was Malfoy, when she looked up to see Alex's smiling face. His smile dropped, and his eyebrows disappeared behind his hair. 'Wow, you look...angry,' he observed. Wisely, he dropped her arm, and took a step back.

She folded her arms. 'How do I leave?' she asked.

'Sorry?' he asked, looking confused.

'How do I leave?' she repeated.

'You just...' he started, and then stopped. 'Where's your wand?'

'I need my wand to leave?' she asked, starting to panic.

He scratched his head. 'Well, didn't you use it to come in?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Huh.'

'What?'

'That's odd.'

'What is?' she asked.

Alex pointed at the ceiling, where she assumed the door appeared from. 'Your wand automatically summons the door when you want to come in or leave. The fact that you came in _without_ your wand...'

'Yes..?'

Alex shrugged, grinning at her. 'Well, you must be some powerful witch, then.'

Hermione smiled. Alex was nice. 'Well, I don't feel so powerful now,' she grumbled.

'Here, I'll help you,' he said. He closed his eyes, and a second later, a _swoosh_ing sound came from above them. Hermione looked up, and there was the door, descending.

'Thanks,' Hermione mumbled, feeling silly. People didn't usually help her out magically.

'No problem,' Alex said, patting her on the back. 'So I'll see you around?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think so.'

'Oh,' Alex said, his dimples disappearing.

'But it was nice meeting you,' she said genuinely, about to step through the door.

'Agreed,' Alex said, nodding.

'Hey, Alex?' she asked, turning around. 'You wouldn't by any chance know if there are any other twenty-four hour restaurants around in Muggle London, would you?' she asked, crossing her fingers.

Alex's eyes widened. 'Actually, there is one—'

'Really?' Hermione asked, suddenly smiling. _Thank you!_

Alex looked at her, smiling in response. 'Yes, _The Ocard_. It's on Glasgar Street, which is –'

'I know where it is! Thank you so much, Alex,' she said, so relieved she stepped forward to give him a hug. He smelled nice.

She caught Alex off-guard. When she pulled away, he looked so surprised that she felt embarrassed for hugging him. But she didn't care, because she had another chance. 'Okay, bye! And thank you again!' She opened the door, and closed it, not hearing what Alex called out after her.

Malfoy was truly horrible and mean and rude, but this was her second chance. To hell with Malfoy, the idiot.

She stepped out onto the pavement, noticing that the rain hadn't let up, but it wasn't as bas as it was before. Sighing, she made her way to Glasgar Street. There weren't any buses around at this hour, there weren't any nice people to give her a lift either. And she didn't have her wand, so she couldn't Apparate. If she met any...people on the street, she would be okay. She had been trained as an Auror, after all.

She guessed that it would take her ten minutes to get there. She would look like a mess, she knew, what with the rain. So hopefully, she would be able to win the manager over with her wit and intellect.

XXX

Draco shrugged on his jacket. He blinked back a yawn, and grabbed his wand. After neatening up all the things on his table, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He went to the reception desk, where Alex was writing something in one of the books.

He looked up when he heard Draco. 'Morning, Sir,' Alex said cheerfully.

Draco sighed. The idiot tried too much to please Draco. It was nauseating. 'How do the figures look, Alex?'

'You possibly might be able to open another restaurant,' Alex replied, grinning.

'Good,' Draco replied shortly, not wanting to waste time making idle chitchat.

He walked towards the point where the door would sense the wand. The familiar _swoosh_ing sound entered his senses, and he was about to open the door when Alex said, 'Hey, Sir?'

Draco sighed. 'What is it?' he asked impatiently.

'Hermione just left for _The Ocard._'

Draco raised his eyebrows. 'Is that so.'

Alex nodded. 'Left five minutes ago.'

'Interesting.' He grabbed the knob and opened it, and the door deposited him on the familiar step outside. He was met immediately by heavy rain that sprayed him in the face. Grimacing, he turned, Disapparating.

-to be continued-


	6. Stars

_**A/**_**N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews : ) **

-STARS-

'Sir.'

'Morning, Mr Malfoy.'

'Mr Malfoy.'

Draco nodded at all the people whom he passed. Unlike his other restaurant, he couldn't have floating candles hanging in the air. He couldn't have music that didn't come from a source like a radio or CD player. He couldn't have a magical door that appeared out of nowhere. But that is where the dissimilarities stopped. This place was the exact same replica of the original restaurant. It still had a homey atmosphere that buzzed with the constant ebb and flow of the customers, no matter the time. It still had the same warm colours that made you feel relieved just by looking at it. Its floor was lined with the same plush material as the other restaurant.

Draco stopped at the reception desk, letting the corner of his lip curl up into a half-smirk as he looked at the girl at the reception desk.

'Morning Arietta,' he murmured, deliberately lowering his voice. He concealed his amusement when she reacted predictably.

The papers in her hand jerked as she gave a small jump of surprise. She shot him a look of nervousness, bending down to retrieve the papers she'd dropped. As she came up, she hit her head on the underside of the desk. Her face was a delicate blush of red when she finally stood up to greet him. 'M-mr Malfoy,' she said, looking down, still blushing madly.

All the while, Draco maintained his half-smirk. 'And how are you today?' he asked, leaning in slightly.

His gaze dropped to her throat, where he saw, rather than heard, her gulp. Sometimes, women made it too easy.

'F-fine,' Arietta said, deciding to sit down. She looked at him, uncertain whether she should have sat down or not. He was the boss after all.

'Mm hm,' Draco said, his hand reaching over the desk. He saw her stiffen, her eyes darting to where his hand was going. She let out a breath when he picked up the book on her table. All the while he kept his eyes on her. Noticing this, she decided to find other things to occupy her attention. Like the pen on her table.

He leafed through the book, his gaze settling on the last page. Nodding to himself, he closed the book. 'Good,' he said.

And then he did something that would make her want to run outside for a blast of fresh air.

He smiled.

With teeth.

His hand grazing hers as he put the book back, he murmured, 'Thank you.'

Her eyes were round as bludgers now, and she bobbed her head, probably unsure why he was thanking her.

He leaned away, straightening, drawing his suit jacket tighter around himself. 'Arietta,' he said, and she looked at him, her eyes still wide.

She tilted her head in question. 'Yes, Mr Malfoy?'

Well at least she wasn't stuttering anymore.

He looked at the door. 'A woman is going to come here in a few minutes,' he informed her, still looking at the door. 'Medium height, horrible hair, ridiculous taste in clothes...'

'Her name, Sir?' Arietta asked.

He turned, unleashing the full force of his gaze on her. 'Hermione Granger.'

'Hermione Granger,' Arietta repeated, bending down to make a note of it.

'Yes, Hermione Granger,' Draco said. 'Send her to my office, please.'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy,' Arietta said, this time offering him a smile laced with shyness.

Draco merely walked away. Arietta was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Being half-Italian, it was difficult for any straight man to resist her quiet charm. She never tied her hair back – it always hung in ebony black, soft curls around her face. She carried her height well, seeming to not know that when she walked away, men stared at her long legs.

She was also a Muggle.

This didn't deter Draco, though. He had dated many Muggle girls, earning frowns from his father, and confused looks from his mother. He had been rebellious after the war, deliberately trying to annoy his family with a Muggle-loving lifestyle. He had borrowed a healthy sum of money from his father, and when asked he had told him that he was planning on opening a restaurant.

Which he did. _The Ocard._ His father had been glad that Draco's sullen looks were being replaced by looks of determination and seriousness after consulting with many people about his new business venture. It was good for him. But when Draco announced one evening at the supper table that he was starting interviews for new _Muggle_ staff, and would his father like to help?, he was surprised when his father's look of shock was quickly replaced by one of only mild annoyance.

After a while, Draco learned that having a Muggle restaurant hadn't annoyed anyone _really_, so with his large profit from _The Ocard_, he opened _Dragon's Head._

In the beginning of his rebellious streak, he had also made a huge point of dating Muggle girls. All beautiful, all intelligent, and all Muggle to the core. He couldn't bring them home, because the Manor was magically locked against Muggles, but he did invite them all to lunch with his parents. Every one of the girls received a tight-lipped, overly polite response from Lucius Malfoy, but nothing angry or cold.

Frustrated, Draco gave up, realising that his parents honestly didn't care whom he dated.

He also realised that Muggle girls were not that bad after all. And some of them were awfully good snoggers as well.

Sighing, he rested his legs on his table. Arietta was very nice, agreed. But so were all the girls he hired. Nice to toy with, nice to charm. But zero spark.

There was a tentative knock on his door. Draco looked up at the clock. 3.30am.

He breathed in deeply, rubbing his hands together. He was ready for Round Two.

'Enter.'

The door opened, and he raised his eyebrows. Granger was standing at his door, her hair plastered flat against her head, dripping mugs of water from the ends onto his carpet. Draco's gaze swept over her clothes, and he felt his lips curl up in amusement. She was wearing a white t-shirt, and he could see right through it.

Deciding to be a gentleman, he averted his gaze to her face, and noticed the pleasant, professional smile dropping clean off her face, as she saw him.

'_You!'_ she seethed, marching into the room and shutting the door behind her with a bang.

She could be really dramatic. He grinned. 'Yip. Me,' he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She could be really entertaining as well. 'You are _despicable_!' she cried, throwing her hands up into the air.

'Oh really?' he asked, enjoying annoying her. 'What have I done now?'

'I cannot _believe_ you would stoop to _such_ low levels!' Her nostrils were flaring unattractively. Honestly, did she know nothing about class?

'Uh huh.'

'You _actually_ came over here and traded places with the manager!' she accused, now coming dangerously close to his desk. Dangerous, because she was still dripping water. And water was very bad for uncharmed wood.

His eyebrows drew together. Now she had lost him. 'Granger, what are you—'

'How much did you pay him?' she asked, her tone demanding an immediate answer. Her eyes widened as another thought crossed her mind. Lowering her voice, she asked, 'Or did you place the _Imperius Curse_ on him?'

He stood up now, rolling his eyes.

'Granger—'

But he was cut off again. 'And these are _Muggles_, Malfoy!' she exclaimed in a furious whisper.

She was close enough to his desk for him to reach over and grip her wet arms. He felt her go rigid beneath his touch, but he ignored it. He bent his head to look her square in the face. 'Shut. Up.'

She opened her mouth to say something else.

He cocked an eyebrow. 'I said shut up, Granger. Honestly, your voice gives me a headache.'

It didn't. He actually loved an annoyed Granger.

Absolutely hilarious.

Her hands came up to push his hands off. Draco immediately wiped his hands on his pants. She was _extremely_ wet.

'_Don't_ touch me, Malfoy,' she bit out. She prodded him in the chest. 'I want you to explain why you're impersonating the manager of this lovely restaurant.'

'You think this restaurant is lovely?' he asked, smirking and ignoring her persistent prodding. Granger had no idea, but she had just, in the history of their acquaintance, complimented him.

'Avoiding the accusation is always the first sign of guilt,' she said, her eyes flashing. 'Why. Are. You. Impersonating. The. Manager?' she repeated, this time punctuating every word with an increasingly harder prod.

Now he was irritated. Yes, he had an extremely high tolerance of pain – given his other line of work – but, in that line of work, his body, particularly his chest, had not been accustomed to unrelenting prodding in the same spot.He looked down at her finger pointedly. 'Don't make me restrain you, Granger,' he said softly, lifting his lips up into a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed. 'Oh? I'd like to see you try, Malfoy,' she hissed.

Draco shrugged. He sat down, simultaneously responding to her challenge with a slight flick of the wrist. He grinned when he saw her in his guest seat, a long piece of dark blue ribbon wound around her, binding her to the chair.

She struggled, glaring at him. 'I am going to _murder_ you, you hateful piece of –'

Draco twirled his wand through his fingers. 'You know, I think that I am bloody lucky that our world isn't so magical that a mere look could kill someone,' he said lightly. 'Don't make me _Silencio_ you either,' he warned. He wouldn't, because then there'd be no fun as she wouldn't be able to voice her annoyance or anger.

'Unbind me, Malfoy,' she ordered, and he could see how tightly her fists were bundling the edges of her t-shirt into tight balls.

He bent forward over his table, and she tried to lean away unsuccessfully. 'No,' he said simply. 'You're much more fun this way.'

'Why, you insolent—'

'You know what seriously concerns me, though, Granger?' he asked, tapping his chin with the end of his wand.

'Do enlighten me,' she angrily muttered, glaring at him, still trying to wriggle her way out of the magically bound ribbon.

He slid his gaze to her, raising an eyebrow. 'Back in school, you were always on your guard.'

'Your point?' she said scathingly, her eyes an icy brown. Slytherin's balls, if the girl narrowed her eyes any further, she'd surely go squint.

'My point, Granger, is that you could have easily countered my...' he trailed off, trying to find the appropriate word.

'Attack,' Granger snarled.

Draco stared at her amusedly. 'Do I infuriate you that much, Granger, that you have to lower yourself to animal-like behaviour? First you growl, now you snarl...'

'Let me out, Malfoy, or so help me...' she threatened.

Draco would've exercised more restraint when he was arguing with Granger, had he known that she had her wand on her person. But it seemed that she didn't. His theory was confirmed when he tried a small _Accio_ charm and nothing happened. An angry Granger was indeed a fun one, but an angry Granger also had a vast vault of curses at the front of her mind, ready on her tongue.

'I am the manager here, Granger,' he stated, watching her reaction. She rolled her eyes, and was about to open her mouth, when he said, sighing, 'Why do we have to spell things out for you? And I mean that quite literally,' he added.

He waved his wand in the air, his name spelling itself out in letters of floating silver fire.

He flicked his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves.

The entire time, he watched her. Her face slipped from the arrogance it had earlier, to one of mild disbelief, and then finally to one of utter mortification.

Cleverly, she kept quiet, although Draco could swear she was muttering, 'Oh shit' quietly to herself over and over, as she looked into her lap.

'I don't know what your obsession is with twenty-four hour restaurants in Muggle London, Granger, but let me assure you that I own the _only_ permanently open restaurants here.'

When she looked up, he was surprised to find a look of resignation sporting her features. She sighed. 'Please take the ribbon off,' she said quietly. Draco did not like the sudden change in tone or attitude.

She looked defeated.

His smirk fell off his face, but he did as she requested. Without looking back, she left his office, leaving Draco feeling downright bewildered. After a while, he passed the entire thing off as a desperate woman who was looking for a job and just couldn't find one.

Yes, that was all it was.

She was just desperate.

A second later, he jumped out of his seat. Another question assaulted his mind: why in the name of Salazar's beard would Hermione Granger be so desperate? Why would she not carry her wand?

Or more importantly, why was she looking for a job in bloody _waitressing_ when she was one of the most qualified Aurors in wizarding history?

XXX

_He knows,_ Hermione thought, as she angrily walked away from the warmth of _The Ocard, _away from the laughing face of Draco Malfoy. He knew that she didn't have a wand. She bent her head against the rain, attempting to shield her face from the relentlessness.

Because it was so cold, she immediately felt the presence of warm tears on her face, and she blinked her eyes angrily, trying to get rid of them. After a while, she gave up, knowing that if anybody who passed her – that is, anybody who would be walking about at this hour – would just assume that it was raindrops that fell down her cheeks.

She stared up at the sky, searching for a star, any exceptionally bright star.

'_When good people die, they become stars,' _she remembered her father telling her.

The six-year-old Hermione had looked up at the sky, which was adorned with thousands of blinking stars – God's flashlights, so she had been told. '_But there are so many_,' she had breathed in an awed whisper to her father. '_How will I know which one is Granddad?'_

Her father had knelt behind her, and pointed over her shoulder up into the sky. '_Just look for the brightest star, sweetheart. That's him.'_

Hermione had lost so many good people in her life, that she wasn't able to track all the brightest stars in the sky. And when she did find them, she couldn't identify the person behind the star. But right now, she would settle for any bright star. Any one of them would do. She just needed to know that they were there, right above her – so clear to the eye, but so very far out of reach.

But Hermione couldn't see passed the cold sheet of rain that slanted before her, blurring the sky. Stubbornly, she narrowed her eyes, as if her very determination would part the rain from her view, drawing a tunnel into the sky. After five minutes of simply staring, she gave up. Her eyes sore, she dipped her head down, and resumed walking. Maybe it was a sign. She wouldn't be able to find a job, as she had just blown both her chances. Maybe she'd be stuck to a Cinderella-like life.

_Be careful what you wish for...you just might get it all_.

As a child, she had read all of the fairy tales. And just like every other normal Muggle girl, her favourite part had been the ending when Prince Charming in some way or the other, married the girl. The girl became a princess, and they all lived happily ever after. And every time she read the ending over and over and over again, she had wished that she would get have a life exactly like that.

And what she got was Cinderella's life instead. Pre-happy ending.

Even though it was difficult to hear the sound of her breathing above the noise of the pelting rain, she couldn't mistake the fairly distinguishable sound of a person Apparating. _Pop!_ Right in front of her. Holding a black umbrella.

She stumbled, not wanting to crash into the person. She sighed when she saw who she was looking at. She hoped he couldn't see her tears. And if he did, she hoped he wouldn't comment.

But if Malfoy noticed anything, he didn't say anything. Wordlessly, he held his umbrella above her, and she felt the instant relief of being protected from the rain. She didn't say thank you, and he didn't say anything. He merely stood there, searching her face. Carefully, she masked her expression, erasing the pain written on her face.

'Apparating in the middle of Muggle London, Malfoy?' she asked, the fight having left her.

'Why do you want to be a waitress, Granger?' he asked earnestly, and he had to raise his voice just to be heard above the rain. He raised his voice, but any of the mirth he had displayed earlier was gone. His face was a picture of seriousness, and the corners of his lips were pulled down in a small frown. He moved closer to her, and Hermione cringed. She relaxed when she realised he was just placing her under his umbrella. She closed her eyes for a moment, relieved that she wasn't a victim to the rain anymore.

That was oddly thoughtful.

She looked up into his eyes, a surprisingly warm shade of mercurial grey, and asked, 'Why do you care?'

Why _did_ he care? He had blatantly declined her services, and although he no longer sneered at her or mocked his blood status, Hermione knew to keep a safe distance from him, and be wary. She wondered whether her answer would have any beneficial impact on Malfoy. Because she knew that the Malfoys always did something in order to get something in return. If they acted nice, it was for purely selfish reasons.

Malfoy stepped in closer, bending his head down. 'Sorry?' he asked, tilting his head so that he could hear her better.

'You better be,' Hermione muttered, thinking of the ribbon incident from earlier. In a louder voice, she repeated her question, 'Why do you care?'

She drew in her arms tighter around herself, the cold nibbling at her skin. His eyes dropped to her arms and he looked around. Hermione copied him, but all she could see around them was a blur of blues, greys and blacks. Grabbing her arm, he said, 'Hold on.'

'Hold –' she started to say, but was cut off by a sharp pulling sensation behind her navel. She closed her eyes. As uncomfortable Disapparating was, she had _really_ missed the feeling. The last time she had Disapparated was...was...

She felt her feet hit solid ground, and she looked around. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she asked, 'Honeydukes cellar?'

She could still hear the rain outside, but the cellar had a contrastingly warmth to it. She breathed. Squinting her eyes, she swivelled her head, attempting to make out the dull outlines of the objects scattered around her on the floor. The smallest of smiles moved her lips as she recognised the familiar boxes stacked messily atop each other, and the wooden crates next to them.

'First place I thought of.'

She turned to look at him curiously, to find that he was looking right back at her. _Into_ her, it seemed. She shifted uncomfortably, not liking this new serious Malfoy. He had his arms crossed over his chest in a position she had previously dubbed as arrogance, but now she couldn't find any traces of arrogance in his face. The smirk was replaced with a pair of lips pulled into a straight line. The teasing eyes replaced with a calculating gaze.

Hermione looked away. She preferred the other Malfoy. The annoying one. At least with that one, she knew how to respond – how to react. She didn't have to think before reacting. She just did. But now she had absolutely no idea what to do. She didn't like the fact that he knew something was off with her.

The problem with being taken out of the rain, is that you immediately felt cold. She started to shiver, pulling her arms tighter around herself. He pulled out his wand, waving it over her body. She stiffened, afraid that he might be cursing her. A second later she realised that he had siphoned all the rain off her skin and clothes. She looked down at her now dry hands, and then looked back at him.

'Thanks,' she muttered reluctantly.

'Why do you want to be a waitress, Granger?' he asked quietly.

'And _I_ asked why –'

'It's not important knowing whether I care or not,' he interrupted. 'What _is_ important is why would a girl who is incredibly skilled in the line of defence want to be a waitress?'

Hermione stuck her chin out. 'Extra money,' she lied.

'Oh really?' Malfoy asked, looking irksomely disbelieving.

Hermione nodded, staring right back at him.

'Ministry not paying you enough these days?' he asked, tilting his head. 'Because from what I hear, Aurors are the second highest paid labourers in the wizarding world.'

'After, what, restaurant owners?' she asked sarcastically. She crossed the room, turning her back on him as she looked out of the rain-sleeked window.

'Which brings us back to...' he prompted.

'What I don't understand,' Hermione muttered, 'is why, after refusing to employ me _twice_, you would follow me out into the rain, and then Disapparate us into the cellar of Honeydukes, and then go on to ask me stupid, pointless questions.'

She still had her back turned on him, so she couldn't see his reaction. But she did hear him take a deep breath.

'I want to know why, Granger,' he said after a moment's pause.

Hermione turned around, lifting an eyebrow. 'And just because Draco Malfoy wants an answer, he must get one?' she spat.

The distance she had placed between them cast him further into the shadows. She couldn't see his face, or much of his body. But from the dull moonlight coming through the only (dirty) window in the cellar, she saw him uncross his arms.

'Actually, Miss Know-It-All,' he said dryly, 'wanting to know why a person wants to work at my restaurant forms one of the key questions in an interview.'

Hermione leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes. She was tired of arguing with him. 'I am not at liberty to say, Malfoy,' she said wearily.

It was true. Isabelle had made it quite clear that if Hermione told anybody about her situation, she would have hell to pay for it. She had already broken this rule by telling Ron and Harry about her predicament, but who was Malfoy to her? He certainly wasn't a friend. And she had just ruined her chances of making him an employer. Ergo, she had no reason to confide – _confide!_ – in him. She was looking for solutions, not condescension.

'Bound by contract?' he asked.

Hermione hesitated. 'Something like that.'

'Does your contract also state that you can't have a wand?'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'Yes.' Why was she even answering his questions? _Shut up, Hermione_.

He was quiet for a minute, and Hermione was relieved by the silence. Malfoy was too perceptive for his own good. Had he always been like this?

Suddenly, Hermione realised that Malfoy had known all this time that she was without a wand – in other words, defenceless.

'Why aren't you using it against me?' Hermione asked, suspiciously.

'What?'

'I don't have my wand. Why aren't you...' she trailed off, the implication clear.

'I already did, Granger,' he said, sounding amused.

Hermione's eyes widened. What had he done to her? Why hadn't she noticed? Had he altered her mind? Had he cast an Immobility Spell on her? She moved her foot.

It moved.

'What did you do?' she murmured, testing her body. Her fingers could move, her feet could move, she could talk, she could think...

'Aren't you forgetting something?' he asked, that same edge of mild amusement lifting his voice. She heard a _swish_ of something moving against air, and a moment later, something soft fell at her feet. She bent down, picking it up.

The ribbon. But it was a much smaller piece of ribbon than before. The kind a schoolgirl would use to tie her hair with.

Irritation flicked at her senses at the recall. 'I want to go, Malfoy,' she said. 'I want to go now.'

She heard light footsteps fall against the wooden surface. Suddenly, his face came into view. 'I have no idea what your story is, Granger, or why the hell you want to work in a restaurant,' he murmured. 'But you seem to be...desperate,' the corner of his lip moved up into a half-smirk.

Hermione felt her eyes flash angrily, but she bit her next retort. It sounded as if Malfoy was giving her chance.

'And I quite like helping out desperate women,' he added, this time releasing the full force of his devilish grin.

Hermione couldn't help it. 'You are _sick_, Malfoy, to think that I—'

Malfoy nodded. 'Got the job. Welcome aboard.'

Hermione stopped mid tirade. 'What's the catch?' she asked apprehensively, but still angry at his earlier insinuation.

Malfoy shrugged. 'No catch.'

'I hope you're not pitying me, Malfoy,' she said, pointing at him.

'Why would I pity you, Granger?' he asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to him – coincidentally the same wall she was leaning against. 'No, I just want to use this opportunity to find out your story.'

'My story,' Hermione repeated, not liking where this was going.

'Your story,' he said, nodding.

'Forget it,' she said, standing up and moving away from him. The last thing she needed was having Malfoy know her _story_, as he put it. He could use it against her. Get her into trouble with Isabelle. Draco Malfoy was capable of doing anything. 'I don't want to work for you.'

'Ah, you might not want to, my dear Granger, but you _need_ to,' he said, smirking. 'I'm not going to force you to work for me.'

'I'll...think about it,' she hedged. She didn't want to work for Malfoy.

He tut-tutted. 'Ah, I'm afraid you won't be able to _think_ about it,' he said. 'I'm not doing you a favour, Granger, which you want time to consider. Decide now. My doors won't always be open.'

Hermione weighed her options. On the one hand, working for Malfoy could be a nightmare. She would have to refer to him as 'Sir' or 'Mr Malfoy', immediately feeling inferior to him. He would probably make her life hell. But on the other hand, Isabelle dealt a worse hand than he did. She wanted freedom. And at least, if she was a waiter, she would be interacting with different people every day. And...waiters and waitresses didn't meet with the manager all the time, did they?

'Tick tock, tick tock,' Malfoy said.

'I...' she said, trailing off. Was she doing the right thing?

She nodded to herself. Why was she even considering this? Yes, it was Malfoy, but she would give anything to get away from Isabelle and the twins.

'Fine.'

'Fine?'

'Yes, fine, Malfoy,' she said.

He walked towards her. 'That's _Sir_ to you, Granger,' he remarked, wearing that horrible smirk again.

She rolled her eyes. 'Drop me off at the corner of my street, Malfoy,' she said. 'I live on –'

She felt the familiar feeling of Disapparition, and when she opened her eyes, she was on her street. She had forgotten about the rain, which continued to fall, fall, fall.

She felt his hands grip her arms, unexpectedly gently. She looked up.

'It's _Sir_,' he muttered, disappearing with a _pop._

She turned to walk down her street, shaking her head. To say she was surprised at the day's turn of events was an understatement. She hadn't old Malfoy that she would be working the six to ten in the morning slot. She looked at her watch. She would be having less than two hours of sleep before she would have to leave for work. _Work!_

It was Malfoy, but it was also work. Something Hermione was deeply passionate about. She had never done waitressing in her life, but it didn't look too challenging. She could do it.

She glanced down at her hand, noticing that her hand was still fisted around a piece of material. Pausing in her step, she opened her hand, the blue piece of ribbon jumping open. She closed her hand again, locking the ribbon inside. Looking up at the sky, which wasn't that heavy with rain as before, she could see the stars. Bright, shining stars.

-to be continued-


	7. Interference and Intervention

-INTERFERENCE AND INTERVENTION-

The skin at the corner of the lips pinched together as the frown stretched across the lips. The ever-present crease between the eyebrows was...well, ever-present. It still caused the sharp eyebrows to curl ever so slightly at the ends. Other than those obvious signs of confusion, the face was devoid of any other emotion.

Before further analysis could be taken, Hermione dipped down, robbing the mirror of her image. Grimly eyeing the rusty taps, she opened one – quickly, hoping that the increased speed would minimise the god-awful whining that the rustiness created. The tap still whined, however, but she splashed the cool water on her face. Grabbing a towel, she glanced again at her image, gently rubbing the droplets off her face, noticing that she still wore signs of confusion.

Malfoy hadn't said _which_ restaurant she'd be working at. '_Got the job,'_ he had said. '_Welcome aboard.'_ Aboard to what, though?

As Hermione changed, her mind ran the track that she had been jogging the whole of last night: Muggle restaurant owned by Draco Malfoy versus magical restaurant owned by Draco Malfoy. Heaving an unnecessary sigh, she bent to hunt for her Converse shoes. Nothing could be done about the Draco Malfoy part. She could live with that. _Would_ live with it. Finding her shoes, she slipped them on.

Working at a magical restaurant would be like having magic itself. To be around the magic that she had been forbidden to use, to see people that she had not seen in months, to secretly meet up with her friends, to deliberately flout Isabelle's orders of staying away from magic all gave her a thrill. The kind of thrill that sung through her veins. But to be that close to magic, and not be able to use it was torturous. And Hermione knew herself to be strong, but she did not feel like over-testing her strength. And although she did not feel like believing her, Isabelle _had_ not-so-subtly hinted that she would have spies. And Hermione didn't want to risk that either.

The Muggle restaurant had felt just as welcoming as Malfoy's other restaurant. Hermione connected well with non-magic folk – she had grown up as a Muggle, and could easily and comfortably interact with Muggles in general. And she would be following Isabelle's orders. Working in a Muggle restaurant also cut her clean off from magic, like the final straw, a final sign. She wouldn't be able to secretly meet up with friends. Non-magic would be her life until she figured out her father's fraudulent will.

Twisting the doorknob, she walked out, the bitter Autumn chill wrapping itself around her exposed neck. She pulled the collar of her jacket up, and bent her head down, her shoes silently sitting the pavement as she walked. She glanced up at the vast house behind her, her sharp eyes noticing the movement of a lace curtain slipping back into place. Hermione turned away. Isabelle must have been watching her. Hermione didn't care, though. She had left Isabelle a letter, saving herself from speaking to the witch.

In it, she had written one thing. Her decision. Two simple words.

_The Ocard_.

* * *

Draco glanced up as she entered his office, closing the door behind her. He waved his wand.

'You can't wear that,' he greeted disapprovingly, staring at her shoes, her jeans and her sweater.

'Good morning to you, too,' she muttered, crossing the room to stand before his desk.

'Change, Granger,' he ordered, returning to shuffle pages on his desk.

Granger narrowed her eyes. 'What is wrong with my outfit?' she tried to say evenly, but her annoyance was evident in the heavy weight of her words.

'_Outfit_ in what language, exactly?' he smirked. He powered up his computer, tapping his foot while it slowly awoke.

'What I am wearing is bloody suitable—'

He tut-tutted her disrespectful tone. 'Now, now, Granger,' he said condescendingly. 'You work for me, remember?'

'I'll remember to kiss your feet the next time,' she snapped.

Draco looked up at her, amused. She was probably unaware that anger coloured her cheeks a soft red and brought a vicious sparkle in her eyes. It tugged at his senses; the effect was mildly alluring.

'I look forward to it,' he grinned. A _beep_ from his computer alerted him into quickly typing his password. 'Change.'

She threw up her hands. 'Into _what_, Malfoy?'

His lips twitched. 'It's a wonder how you qualified as an Auror,' he mused. 'One of the best, so I've heard.'

He saw something flicker in her eyes, a brief flash of something, and then it was gone. 'Your point?'

He shrugged. 'I just thought that vigilance was one of the required skills.'

'Is it usually your habit to never get to the point?'

'I need my staff to look as tasty as the food, Granger,' he said slowly, fixing his sharp gaze on her. He expected her to flush with embarrassment, to stutter, to pop open her mouth in shock.

He obviously didn't know Granger too well.

'Are you telling me that you objectify your staff, Malfoy?' she asked thinly, anger glinting in her eyes.

'Society is very judgemental, Granger,' he said, getting over his surprise at her reaction. 'They like to be served aesthetically pleasing food by aesthetically pleasing people.'

'That is a load of –'

'But it's true,' he said, lifting up a shoulder in a careless half-shrug. With a few clicks, he opened up his company's spreadsheets, and charts, jotting down his observations on a page he had near. Her next words caused him to pause.

'I'm not _aesthetically pleasing_, Malfoy,' she said, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't say it with self-pity, Draco noted. She said it in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was something she believed in. He mentally shook his head. Ignorance.

'In that outfit, yes,' Draco said. He pointed at the stool beside the door. 'Uniform.' A neatly folded two-piece uniform sat on the stool.

'Where is the point in wearing a fancy uniform if I'm working the breakfast hours?' Granger muttered, but picked up the uniform, letting it fall open.

Draco snapped open a file, sliding his page of graph interpretations into a sleeve, and popped the file back in place. Draco sighed. Whichever feminist idiot said that men could not multitask was...well, an idiot. In the space of fifteen minutes he had held a delightful conversation with the entertaining Granger _and_ prepared for his afternoon meeting with the board. Oh yeah, he was _that_ good.

'Uh, Malfoy?'

Draco looked up, and didn't even try to hold back his grin. Granger had the uniform dangling between her thumb and forefinger, holding it as if it were a dead animal. _No_, Draco mentally disagreed with himself. Knowing Granger, she would probably have cradled a dead animal. Either way, she was looking at the uniform with barely concealed repulsion.

'Where's the rest of it?' she asked, biting her lip.

_Nervous_, Draco thought. An emotion he was seeing for the first time after a long time on her face.

'You're looking at it,' he smiled. Granger was obviously not used to wearing short items of clothing. She was a jeans girl.

Well, that was about to change.

Her fingers trailed over the garment. Not as a caress, but in surprise. She held up the uniform against herself, and frowned. 'It barely covers my – Stop grinning like that!' She exclaimed, shaking the uniform in his direction.

'You have to admit, Granger, it's pretty hilarious,' Draco said. He gestured at her. 'I mean, all this time you were putting up such a brave front, and now you're scared of a little uniform. Hilarious,' he repeated.

'Little being the operative word,' she muttered, probably thinking her words were too soft for Draco to hear. He smiled devilishly in response.

'So you admit that you are scared of it,' he pressed, deliberately annoying her.

'Please,' she said, sticking her chin out. 'I was just wondering about the cold,' was her feeble excuse.

Draco got up from his chair, stretched, and began to manoeuvre himself around his desk. 'Of course,' he humoured her. 'Because the central heating in this place has nothing on the Autumn cold.'

He came to stand beside her, slightly peeved that he did not have a significant height advantage over her. Her head was in line with her shoulders. He shrugged it off; inconspicuously drawing his wand out of his pocket. He noticed the brief appraisal that Granger gave his suit. He waited for the slight widening of her eyes as she took in his handsomeness, perhaps her lips will part just a little, and maybe...Hang on. He didn't see any...admiration in her eyes. In fact, was that a...did she just _frown?_ Impossible. Nothing about him was unappealing. He shrugged that off, too. It didn't bother him that Granger didn't find him appealing.

_Ridiculous_, Hermione thought. She would be an idiot to not notice that Draco Malfoy was good-looking. _Dangerously good-looking_, she mentally added, frowning. But to wear a damn _suit_? Granted, he was the boss, but a suit! When her eyes lastly rested on his face, she saw him looking at her rather intensely. She rolled the discomfort off her shoulders. She would not let Malfoy interfere with her comfort zone.

But still...'Why are you standing so close?' she snapped. Her hand automatically fisted the uniform. She _hated_ it.

'Is it bothering you?' he asked, stepping closer just to annoy her. Hermione held her ground.

'I am sure that this is a breach of policy between employer and employee,' Hermione remarked.

A soft laugh fell from his lips, and Hermione's ears pricked at the sound. Her mind tightly squeezed into itself as she tried to recall when was the last time she had heard Malfoy laugh, or even _smile_ the number of times he had over the past two days. It was disturbing.

'I would never sexually harass you, Granger,' he smirked.

Rather than feeling insulted, Hermione was irritated. 'Use my name and the word 'sexually' in the same sentence one more time...'she trailed off, the threat clear.

'You'd do what, exactly?' he asked, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. 'Still no wand?'

'Fists and feet can accomplish the same job,' she said, smiling sweetly.

He took another step towards her. She held her breath, reining her temper in. She inwardly winced as she felt the brush of his suit jacket against her. 'But,' he murmured, 'you cannot use fists and feet to prevent this.'

She cursed even before she felt the gentle prod of his wand. A second later, she felt the light fabric of the uniform caress – no, _attack_, she corrected – her skin. She braced herself for the cold air to bite at her legs and her arms, but – nothing. She clenched her teeth. 'You _horrible_ –'

She was cut off as his large hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her back a few paces. She slapped his hands away, her insides squirming as he took his time to look her up and down.

The sleek black mini skirt fitted her curves nicely, he observed. Elegant, not cheap. He tried to look at her legs with a critical eye, but couldn't help but notice that they were not the pale colour that a lot of British women had. A golden kind of pale. Toned with a soft shadow of muscle. His gaze slid up to the shirt. A semi-sheer, long-sleeved white wrap blouse almost masked the soft swell of her breasts. Almost. Again, elegant, not cheap. _Critical, Malfoy,_ he reminded himself.

The outfit fit well. Not aesthetically pleasing, his arse.

'Done?' came her biting comment.

He glanced at her face, blinking away any signs of his thoughts. Her mouth had straightened into a thin line; her eyes spat fire. Ignoring her annoyance, he said, 'Heels, hair in a high pony.'

'Why don't I just work in the evening, Malfoy? This outfit is over-the-top for a six to ten hour shift in the damn morning.'

Draco tilted his head. 'Would that make you more comfortable?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'No, but it would be a hell lot better than this.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Dramatic, Granger. But fine, work in the evening.'

'What?'

'I said work in the evening. But I'm warning you,' he said, throwing in a smirk, 'it will mean make-up.'

'You are easily despisable, you know that?'

'There's no such word as 'despisable', do _you_ know that?'

'What, are you the vocabulary police now?'

'Granger, when the hell do you want to work?'

She shook her head. 'Forget it. I have to work the six to ten in the morning shift.'

'Then why the hell did you ask to work in the evening?' Draco asked, annoyed because she was confusing him.

'Sarcasm, Malfoy. I trust you're not immune to it, since you dish it out so frequently yourself.'

Draco ran his tongue over his teeth as his mind picked up on something. 'Hang on, what do you mean 'have to work the six to ten hour shift'?'

He saw her eyes widen fractionally, and she licked her lips. 'I meant _want to_.'

Draco looked at her. 'Uh huh. And why is that?'

'Personal preferences,' Granger said, starting to turn away. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back to face him.

'What aren't you telling me, Granger?' he demanded.

'Let go, Malfoy,' Granger said, glaring at him.

'Tell me what 'have to' means first,' he insisted, gripping tight enough not to hurt her, tight enough to keep her there.

'Mature, aren't you.'

'I told you I'd find out your story, Granger.'

'There _is_ no story, you idiot. Let. Me. _Go.'_

'The hell there's a story,' Draco snapped. He didn't know why, but the woman was getting under his skin. 'Tell me.'

'What makes you think there's a story? Huh?' she asked, poking his chest.

'You have no wand, you aren't an Auror anymore, you've been off the pages of The Prophet, you're begging for work as a damn waitress...Should I really continue?'

'What are you doing managing restaurants, Malfoy? Skills like that, you should've been a private detective.'

Draco let her go, cursing. Granger staggered back a few paces. He ran a hand through his hair. He knew Granger was holding back on information. She didn't trust him, he understood that. But the whole goddamned thing made no sense! There was something.

Rubbing a hand wearily across his brow, he looked up at her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, totally unaware of what effect that had on the size of her chest. He internally groaned. Looking at hr face instead, he said, 'Answer me this, Granger – and you owe it to me to be honest – do you want or need this job?'

'Both.'

'Damn it, Granger. It can't be both.'

'Take it or leave it, pal.'

Draco took a deep breath. 'Another one: are you being forced?'

'I wouldn't want it if I was being forced,' she said, dodging a direct answer.

_Definitely something._ 'What are you running from?' he murmured. He wasn't asking her directly, more thinking out aloud. But it seemed to trigger a response in Granger. It looked like she was refusing to look away from him, but in the instant he voiced the question, a hard layer passed over her features. Curiosity piqued, he stared at her. 'You're running from something,' he said softly. He slowly reached a hand out, laid it gently on her cheek. A comforting gesture.

He saw her lips quiver, and the harsh confusion drew his brows together. The broken girl he'd seen the night before – or early that morning, he supposed – was hiding in the depths of her eyes right now. 'Granger –'

'Stop interfering, Malfoy,' she said quietly, the harshness, anger, annoyance all gone from her voice. She had not been prepared for Malfoy's intimate nature. It was friends who comforted – not former arch nemeses. Suddenly, she wished for Harry or Ron. They understood, at least.

Malfoy let his hand fall away from her cheek. Slipping it into his pocket, he regarded her. 'You know I'll find out.'

Hermione chose not to reply.

'I'm a lawyer, Granger. It's my _job_ to suss out the truth from people...Or attain it from other sources.'

_Nobody else knows_, she thought, but wouldn't tell him that.

'How is it that you own and actively manage two restaurants _and _practise law?' she asked, the question sitting on the fringes of her mind since she found out he owned two highly successful restaurants.

'You need to work on your subtlety at changing the subject,' Malfoy commented. His easy grin was gone, and Hermione found she preferred that over the pensive expression he wore now.

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Malfoy looked at her, and Hermione knew he was trying to arrive at a possible solution. After a while, he nodded. 'Fine. Work the six to ten hour shift. You can wear pants, and black flats. Hair still in a high pony.' His tone turned all businesslike, as was evident in the abruptness of his short sentences, and the serious, almost blank expression on his face. He flicked his wand, transfiguring the skirt to long black pants that were equally smart. A tiny part of Hermione relaxed as she saw the offensive skirt disappear.

Malfoy's gaze dropped to her feet. 'Size seven? Eight?'

'Seven and a half,' she said slowly, wondering what he was planning to do. 'Please don't transfigure my Converse –'

He flicked his wand, and a pair of simple black pumps landed neatly on the floor. Bending down, he used his wand to tap first the pumps and then her shoes, a second later, they swapped places.

He straightened up, tucking his wand away.

'Thank you,' Hermione found herself saying. She shouldn't have felt touched, but she wasn't an ungrateful person. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Malfoy had done a lot for her.

He pointed at her hair, which was hanging loose around her shoulders. 'I'm sure you don't need a wand for that.'

'What?' Hermione asked, still lost in her thoughts about Malfoy. She touched a hand to her hair. 'Oh, right. No, I don't.' She started pulling her hair up into a pony, holding it in place with a band that had been around her wrist.

He nodded. Glancing at the clock, he muttered, 'Your shift started ten minutes ago. Go.'

Hermione nodded, unsure of all that had taken place in the past half an hour in his tidy office. She walked to the door, and as she was about to open the door, she turned. 'Thanks.' Before he could say anything – and she was pretty sure he wouldn't have, even if she stayed to wait for a reply – she left, clicking the door closed.

Inside the office, Draco stared at the door she had just left through. Hermione Granger was a puzzle. And there were so many pieces that were missing, he couldn't put it together. First she berated him for interfering, and then she was thanking him for...Draco first thought she was thanking him for transfiguring the (sexy) skirt into (still sexy) pants, but it probably went deeper than that.

Maybe a part of her wanted him to interfere. Keeping everything inside was disastrous. He knew that. He had been down that road. People needed to talk. And if they didn't want to talk, he would just intervene. Because that's how the world worked.

* * *

She balanced the tray on her right hand, kept her back straight, and smiled with ease as she walked down to table 8, handing the customers their orders. She had a few easy words with the customers, and with gentle grace, rose up and walked back. Easy as pie. She even had the gentle sway to her hips as she walked. She walked straight to the other woman by the counter.

Glancing at the woman, she said, 'And that's how it's done.'

Hermione frowned. The woman – Jodi – smiled warmly. 'I promise – it's not that hard. Okay, see that table there?'

Unfortunately for Hermione, Jodi pointed to the furthest table away from them. 'Table 41,' Hermione said, nodding.

'Take their order to them.' Jodi led Hermione through a pair of swinging doors to the kitchen. Hermione followed hesitantly behind her. Jodi walked with such _confidence_. Jodi rapped her knuckles on kitchen counter. 'Dan! Order number 132!'

A mumbled response came from inside, and a sweaty face appeared. A round belly that a baby would have fun bouncing on was the first thing that Hermione noticed. The man – Dan, Hermione presumed – had a warm smile. 'Order up!' his voice boomed. He slid a tray forward, stopping briefly to look at Hermione. 'Well, looky here!' he exclaimed in that loud voice of his.

'Hi,' Hermione responded, responding automatically to his smile.

'Dan, Hermione, Hermione, Dan,' Jodi introduced. 'Dan's the best chef in town,' she told Hermione, winking. 'And it's Hermione's first day on the job, Dan.'

'Ah, good luck,' he said gravely.

Jodi swatted his arm. 'Don't scare her, Dan.' Shaking her head, she led Hermione out of the kitchen, back through the swinging doors. 'He's like our den father around here,' Jodi told her, affection clear in her voice.

'He seems nice,' Hermione said.

Jodi held out the tray for Hermione to take. Hermione looked at it, clearing her throat nervously. If she had to fall, there would be a _lot_ of scrambled egg on the floor.

'It doesn't bite,' Jodi said, hiding a laugh.

Hermione cautiously accepted the tray, immediately feeling its weight. 'Ridiculous,' she muttered to herself.

She tried to mimic Jodi's movements from her last delivery, but knew she wasn't perfecting it. She was putting all her weight into supporting the tray. So much for casual elegance.

'Back straight!' Jodi whisper-screamed from behind her. In an attempt to follow Jodi's advice, Hermione lost her balance, stumbling forward. The plates casually glided off her tray, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the crash.

'Uh, thank you,' came a soft reply. Hermione opened her eyes, and found herself looking at two surprised faces. She looked around for signs of food on the floor, her body, but instead found the two plates in front of their respective eaters. She straightened.

'Um, you're welcome,' she smiled, walking away from Table 41, a frown creasing her features. She pulled up at Jodi.

Jodi beamed. 'Not bad for your first try!'

Hermione smiled.

'We'll practice later in the bathroom,' Jodi promised, rushing off to escort the next customers in.

Noticing that no one else needed attending to, Hermione walked back to Malfoy's office.

She opened the door, forgetting to knock. Malfoy looked up, irritation passing over his features. He had a phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

'I'll call you back...yes...okay, thank you.' He hung up, turning his icy gaze towards her. 'Knock much?'

'Do you use magic in this restaurant?' Hermione asked quickly, after closing the door behind her.

'Frequently,' he replied. 'Why?'

'I don't mean in the confines of your office, Malfoy,' Hermione said, walking towards his desk. 'What you're doing is not right. People will notice,' she hissed.

'Really,' he said, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms over his chest.

'Right now, I was delivering a couple their food, and I stumbled, _badly_, which resulted in their plates slipping off the tray, ready to fall on the ground, when it just casually slipped onto the table in front of them!'

Malfoy had the nerve to smirk. 'You stumbled?'

'Were you even _listening_ to me?' Hermione asked. 'I said that—'

'I heard what you said, Granger,' Malfoy replied, his calm tone contrasting with her hysteric one. 'Yes, I do use magic in this restaurant, to improve the efficiency and service delivery. This restaurant is well-known for its efficiency and service-delivery.'

'Well, bravo for you, Malfoy, but someone could have –'

'No one would have noticed, Granger,' he said. 'You might have surprised your customers, but they wouldn't have suspected a thing. You were standing close enough to the table for the plates to just...slip off. Had you been standing further away, I can assure you that your plates would not have floated off.'

'But to the ordinary Muggle, plates can't just _slip off_ trays, and conveniently land on –'

'Can Muggles see the Knight Bus, Granger?' he interrupted.

'No, but –'

'Then you have your answer.'

'This is diff –'

'It's the same principle, Granger.'

'Hardly—'

Draco looked up. 'Same. Principle.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'Dismissed.' He saw her raise both her eyebrows. 'And yes,' he said, 'I _can_ dismiss you. Close the door on your way out, will you?'

Draco watched her take a breath, and leave his room. He eyed the back of her. The pants were definitely as sexy as the skirt.

When his door clicked shut, he picked up the phone, pushing the _redial_ button.

'Good morning, Mr Hemming, please.' Draco waited a beat. 'Thank you.' A stupid melody fit for elevator music wafted through, forcing Draco to listen to it. Muggle operators at the Ministry were hell to put up with. Precisely seven seconds later, it stopped, the crisp voice of Mr Hemming cutting through.

'Mr James,' Hemming greeted.

'Ah, sorry about that,' Draco apologised, responding to the pseudonym.

'Not a problem, Mr James,' Hemming said, and Draco heard some papers being shuffled in the background. 'Where were we?'

Draco smiled. 'I believe I was asking about a woman from your department.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'Hermione Granger. When, exactly, did she hand in her resignation?'

-to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: The original 'uniform' can be seen on my profile page.**

**Also, sorry about the really later update. I've been writing my end of year exams : /**


	8. Fury

-FURY-

'Ahem.'

'Good morning to you, too, Granger,' Malfoy said, barely looking up from his desk. 'And how are you on this beautiful, sunny day?' Hermione didn't miss the carefully combined sarcasm and amusement rolled into one question.

'It's thundering.'

Malfoy grinned. 'It's called being polite, Granger. A trait you sorely lack.'

'I can be polite,' Hermione snapped. At his arched eyebrow, she remedied, 'Most times.'

Malfoy tapped his Parker pen on his chin as he leaned forward on his desk, addressing Hermione who still stood at the door, 'Would you like to know what I think?'

'Quite frankly, it surprises me that you have the mental capacity to even think –'

'Tell me something, Granger,' he interrupted. 'Did you treat the Minister of Magic so disrespectfully when you worked under him?' He paused to throw in a smirk. 'And by under, I mean –'

Her nostrils flared. 'Kingsley is a happily _married_ man, Malfoy,' she seethed. 'How dare you insinuate –'

'So adding to your list of undesirable traits,' Malfoy annoyingly continued, 'after "disrespectful to fellow superiors", we'll put "too serious to appreciate sexual innuendo".'

Hermione narrowed her gaze in silent fury. _I need this job. I need this job. I need this job. _Gritting her teeth, she spat, 'Would you like to know what _I_ think?'

He flashed his teeth in a feral grin. 'Of course not, Granger. What a stupid question. Now what do you want? Your shift's already started.'

Hermione clenched her jaw. 'I need a favour.'

Her ears stung as he barked out a short laugh. Her eyes widened in horror, anger quickly forgotten. Malfoy knew how to _laugh?_

'Oh, Granger, you do amuse me,' he grinned. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one foot over the other as he placed them on his desk. 'You address me in harsh tones and insult me, and then demand a favour from me? I mean, _another_ favour, considering the first one being giving you a job.'

Malfoy, being Malfoy, was going to make this hard. He brought out the worst in her, she couldn't help it. 'Firstly, I didn't demand a favour,' she stated, holding up a finger. 'Secondly, you deliberately provoke me. Thirdly –'

Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'You're just weak enough to feel provoked, Granger.'

'_Thirdly_,' Hermione continued, ignoring his jibe, 'I promise –' at this, she inwardly cringed, '—to not insult you, if—'

'No, you don't,' Malfoy said, grinning again. Hermione dearly wished she could set fire to that grin.

'I beg your pardon?' she bit through her teeth.

'It is impossible to refrain from insulting me. So don't bother making promises you intend on breaking.' He shrugged.

'Fine,' Hermione snapped, having lost her patience in the early parts of their conversation.

'Tell you what,' Malfoy said, dropping his feet from his desk to stand up. 'Let's make a deal.' He walked towards her, coming to a graceful stop.

She looked up at him, distrust written clear on her face. She opened her mouth to retort, when, Malfoy tut-tutted. 'No, Granger, don't even think about it,' he said in amusement, shaking his head. '_You _came to _me_, remember?'

Hermione stiffened as he leaned close to her, his arm snaking around her to...

...close the door. She breathed out a sigh of relief as he straightened away from her.

'Let's talk business,' he said, pulling her none-too-gently further into his office.

She shrugged his hand off her arm, and took a seat.

Malfoy sat across from her. 'Rule number one, you need to treat me civilly.'

Hermione snorted. 'Need I remind you, Malfoy, that you –'

'-have treated you civilly from the very beginning.' Malfoy said, raising a brow in challenge. 'Granger, I can't tolerate disrespect from any of my employees.'

'Respect needs to be earned, Malfoy,' Hermione couldn't help but saying.

'Something that I am well aware of, which is why everyone on my staff is happy working for me. Everyone except you.' He regarded her with a cool look. 'If you're not happy here, Granger...'

'I didn't come here for a heart to heart, Malfoy,' Hermione said. A small part of her admitted that she was acting immature, and that, yes, Malfoy had treated her somewhat civilly since her arrival at work, but damn it! She couldn't help it!

'True, you came here for a job, which you're not even doing properly.'

Indignation lit her eyes. 'I am trying!'

'Maybe,' he said, lifting a shoulder in a light shrug. 'I'm ordering you to be civil, Granger,' he said pleasantly, as if he was wishing her a good day. 'Don't make this hard for the both of us.'

Hermione acknowledged the quiet glint in his eyes that qualified his last statement. 'Fine.' She inwardly winced at the harshness of her tone. She needed to work on that.

He smirked. 'Good. Now, what is it that you want from me?'

Hermione bit her lip. She had thought about this on the way to work this morning. She would try to make it sound as normal as possible. _Don't make him curious. _'I need to use your Floo.'

He gazed at her calculatingly. 'My Floo,' he repeated.

She nodded. 'Please,' she added as an afterthought.

'What for?'

Hermione mentally cringed. She knew he was going to ask – this was Draco Malfoy, for crying out loud!

'To communicate with someone.'

'Really,' he said sarcastically. 'I was wondering what else the Floo was used for.'

Hermione held on to her resolve, and the fact that she needed to be civil with this man. She leaned forward. 'It's important, Malfoy.'

'Why don't you use your one at home?' he asked, grinning. Hermione took a closer look at his expression, and frowned. _He knows more than he's letting on._

'It's complicated,' she said shortly.

'I see,' he said. Abruptly, he changed the topic. 'Granger, why did you leave the Ministry?'

'I felt for a change of scene,' Hermione said, narrowing her eyes. This conversation wasn't going the way she planned. _Nothing_ with Malfoy went according to plan. 'Malfoy—'

'So you completely abandoned magic,' Malfoy said slowly, his grey eyes piercing into her, 'to work in a Muggle environment.' He nodded, as if it made sense.

'I didn't completely abandon magic,' she muttered. She hated that Malfoy loved to probe. Hated that he loved to interfere. Hated that he loved to mind someone else's personal business. Hated that he was so good at slipping past her defences.

'Oh?' he asked, a challenging note in his voice. 'No wand, no Floo, specifying to work in a Muggle industry...' He suddenly reached over the table, grasping Hermione by the shoulders, pulling her closer. She gasped, shocked at the sudden contact. 'What the hell is your agenda, Granger?' he demanded quietly, his face mere inches from hers.

'Let go of me,' she ordered, her heart picking up a sputtered beat as his grey eyes penetrated her brown ones. She attempted to wriggle out of his tight grasp.

'Why is the greatest witch of our age without magic?' he breathed into her face, and Hermione caught a strong whiff of coffee.

Hermione placed her hands on his chest, ignored how good it felt, and angrily pushed him away. She stood up, heat flooding her cheeks. 'You talk about me breaching the office code, Malfoy, but you are no better,' she fumed.

Malfoy dropped himself back into his chair, and pulled open a drawer. He pulled out a metal container, sliding it over the desk towards Hermione.

'Floo powder,' Draco said tightly in response to her outburst. He had been out of line, he knew, but it bloody _frustrated _him that he couldn't fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

Her brown eyes flickered to the box and then back to him, regarding him cagily.

'Be back in ten minutes.'

He watched her deliberate for a few slow seconds, before she hesitantly reached out to flick open the lid of the box. In mild confusion, he watched as she fingered the soft green powder, as if relishing the feel of it, before her slim fingers curled around a fistful of powder. She walked towards the fireplace, and stopped just before she got in. Turning around, she muttered, 'Thank you.'

He tilted his head. 'You're welcome.' He eyed her, curious to hear her destination.

'Can I have your word,' Granger began, suddenly looking very vulnerable, 'to not follow me?'

Curiosity flickered beneath his surface, but he coolly nodded. 'Of course.' He waved his wand at the door, _Muffliato!_

Just as he had finished casting the spell, he heard her yell, '12 Grimmauld Place!' before disappearing in a swirl of green smoke.

Draco's eyebrows lifted. _Where the hell was Grimmauld Place?_ he wondered, as he took out his phone. _More importantly_, he thought, hitting numbers on the keypad, _who lived there?_

* * *

'You work for _Malfoy_?' Ron yelped.

Hermione grimaced. 'My best option.'

'Malfoy's your best option?' Ron said disbelievingly.

'What I don't get,' Harry said, coming into the room, pulling a clean shirt over his head, 'is why you'd tell Isabelle that you needed work. The competition's going to be taking up a lot of your time as it is.'

Hermione glanced up at him as he tiredly took a seat on the couch. She had come into the familiar house five minutes ago to find Ron there, eating. After hugging the life out of her, he Floo'ed Harry at work to come home immediately, as it was deathly urgent. Harry had been training, and thinking there was a major crisis, Floo'ed home in his fighting gear. Harry shook his head in amusement – crisis indeed! - stooped to hug Hermione, his previous resentment for her for setting him up with Sabine Carmell forgotten. Hermione had thereafter caught them both up in what was happening.

'But don't you see, Harry? This is perfect! Of course, I hadn't anticipated working for Malfoy, of all people, but this way, I can actually ... It can work.'

`This is Malfoy we're talking about, Hermione,' Harry reminded her. 'He'll figure your story out soon enough.'

Hermione sighed. 'I think he's already halfway there, Harry.'

'What if he tells the papers, Hermione?' Ron asked gently. 'He's well-connected to the media.'

'He wouldn't,' Hermione said immediately.

Ron raised an eyebrow. 'Oh yeah? You sound pretty confident about that.'

'Harry's right, Ron. Something about Malfoy's changed.I don't think he'll sneak –'

'I might have said that he's changed for the better, Hermione,' Harry interrupted. 'I didn't say he's become incapable of _sneaking_.'

'He wouldn't,' Hermione stubbornly repeated. Draco Malfoy was a slimy bastard, but that didn't make him a cruel one.

'Does he know you're here?' Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. 'I told him not to follow, so the only thing he knows is the address, and that's thankfully untraceable.'

Ron sighed, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. 'Okay, problem one sorted out. How are you going to sort out problem two?' His blue eyes looked at her seriously.

'Problem two?' Hermione echoed.

'The competition's at midnight every night, Hermione,' Ron said. 'How are you going to work around that when your shift's in the morning?'

'Oh,' Hermione said, her shoulders slumping. 'I didn't think of that.' She sighed, looking at the ceiling. She was losing it. Her sanity, her intellect, her...spark.

'Hermione,' Harry said slowly, regarding her closely, 'stupid question, but have you read the books yet?'

She glanced at him guiltily. 'Isabelle reclaimed my wand. We shrunk those books so that they'd fit in my bag remember? Well, she took the wand back before I could enlarge them. So, they're practically illegible.'

'We can work around that,' Harry responded. He waved his wand, telling Hermione, 'I have a few that you could read.'

Hermione looked up as she saw a few books sailing her way. Harry slowly lowered them onto her lap with his wand. 'I'll only be able to read these at work,' she said.

Harry lifted a shoulder. 'The competition's in just under three weeks, Hermione. You need to know what you're getting into.'

Hermione smiled. 'I can do this,' she said. 'Thank you so much for your help.' Glancing at her watch, she frowned. 'I have to get back.' Her frown was mirrored on their faces, too. She stood up, giving each of them a kiss. 'I'll try to stay in contact this way, if I behave with Malfoy.' She pulled a face at this.

'I'm surprised you've lasted two days,' Ron laughed. 'I would've knocked the bloke's nose in by now.'

Hermione smiled. 'There's a thought.'

She stepped back into the fire, gripping the books tightly to her chest. Her heart clenched at the sight of her two best friends waving her off. _I miss them_. Sighing, she yelled, 'The Ocard!'

And in a puff of green smoke, she was gone.

Ron and Harry lowered their hands, their smiles simultaneously slipping off their faces.

Ron stared at the fireplace. 'She'll be alright.' He looked up at Harry. 'She will be alright, right?'

Harry glanced at him. 'She's strong,' was his answer.

* * *

Hermione toppled out of the fireplace, coughing as she choked down soot. Brushing at her clothes, she got up, shaking her head so that the soot would fall out. Malfoy's fireplace was a lot more sootier than Harry's.

'I trust you gave my regards to Potter?' came a familiar drawl.

Hermione snapped her attention to Malfoy. His gaze swept over her clothes, before locking with her startled eyes. _He can't possibly know..._

She cleared her throat, walking towards the door, 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said, trying to sound indifferent.

'Please,' he said, and she heard him push himself away from his desk. Her hand fell to the knob of the door. 'Don't play innocent with me, Granger,' he said in mild amusement. 'What books did he give you?'

Damn. So he'd seen them. He'd also figured it was Harry's house she'd been to. Pointless trying to fight it. She pulled the books closer into her stomach. 'Fiction,' she lied, twisting the knob on the door.

Locked.

'Hey, Malfoy, could you—'

'Nope, but I appreciate the almost genuine politeness,' he remarked from behind her. He was close enough that she could feel the breath he let out as he laughed quietly.

She turned around to face him, simultaneously sliding the books behind her, holding it between her back and the door. She looked up into his face which appeared too close for comfort. 'I thought,' she said, her voice coming out scratchy. She cleared her throat, and looked back into the eyes that were looking into hers with such deep amusement.

'You thought...' his voice a soft murmur, and he leaned in fractionally closer.

She stood her ground, trying to remember what it was she was thinking. Oh, right. 'I thought that 12 Grimmauld Place was off the map,' she said, refusing to lower her voice to decibels that copied his. Maybe her normal volume would make him lean away.

'It is,' he said, placing a hand on the door.

'Then how do you...' Damn it, she could smell him. 'How do you know?'

'I have my ways,' he said quietly, the corner of his lips lifting into a subtly smirk. Out of her periphery, Hermione saw his hand slip lower on the door, and against her will, her heart picked up speed. This is ridiculous! She cursed her body for reacting to him.

'I...' she held her breath as she felt the heat between her body and his hand as his hand dipped lower and lower down the door. Before she could say anything, she felt his hand swiftly dislodge the books she'd tried so hard to conceal. The books fell to the floor, and he bent to pick one up.

Hermione's nostrils flared. How dare he! Although she was grateful for the distance he'd put between them, how dare he! Those were _her_ books!

She aimed to snatch it out of his hands, but he held it up, out of reach.

''_The Masqueraded Duel_',' he read out loud.

'Give it _back_, Malfoy!' she shouted, height working out of favour with her.

He handed her the book, the amusement gone. He wore a guarded expression, 'Granger, why do you have that?' he asked in a neutral voice.

'Extra reading,' she snapped, still furious that he had manipulated her defences. Still furious that her body had reacted to him.

His gaze flickered to the books that were still at her feet. He narrowed his eyes. 'Extra reading on the same subject?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, sticking her chin out stubbornly.

'Are you planning on participating?' he asked her, his eyes cool.

'It's just extra reading, Malfoy.'

'Just wondering, because if you are, you'll need a wand.'

She stared at him silently.

'Something you don't have,' he added.

'It's just extra reading, Malfoy,' Hermione repeated, clenching her fists behind her back.

'If you insist,' Malfoy replied. He flashed a quick grin. 'Either way, I'll keep them with me.' His wand appeared out of nowhere, sending the books into his drawer. Hermione stared at him. Why were people doing this to her? Why were things constantly being taken away from her? Her wand, her friends, her freedom, her damn borrowed books, her _pride_. She was sick of it.

'I'll collect it when I'm done,' she said stiffly.

Draco nodded. He was close enough that he could see a light go out in her eyes. Close enough that he could feel her body relax – not in comfort, or relief. But in defeat.

Hermione the defeatist?

He needed to figure out her story fast.

He waved his wand, and he heard the lock on the door unclick. He reached behind her, deliberately narrowing the distance between their bodies. It hadn't gone unnoticed that she reacted to him. Oh, he noticed alright.

His hand on the knob, he pulled out his wand, waving it over her clothes, '_Scourgify,'_ he murmured, watching her pupils dilate as he stared at her. He slowly wiped a finger across her forehead, causing her to stiffen. 'Missed a spot,' he murmured.

Her response was something he hadn't anticipated. 'You are unbelievable, Draco Malfoy,' was her statement of whispered fury. She shoved at him roughly, leaving his office in a sharp breeze.

-to be continued-


End file.
